


these hands had to let it go free

by panftdarling



Series: little boys with issues, lots of issues [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Apocalypse, X-Men: Days of Future Past, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Excessive Swearing, also slight mind control, and wanda being overprotective of peter, don't read if squeamish to violence and menacing characters walking around wanting to kill people, father and son conflict and angst, i just needed more post-apocalypse father and son angst ok, i just wrote what came into mind, i only tagged the significant characters but there's more people in this than the ones tagged, i'm computer/laptop bound so any typos i'm sorry i'll fix it when i can including the htmls, i'm still working on my tenses so sorry for any grammatical error????, later will have some really bad peter in trouble scenes, maximoff family central, peter being a sweetheart and darling and little momma's boy who just wants to make his father proud, this was really messy, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7128467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panftdarling/pseuds/panftdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Peter finds out his half sister is alive, and leaves to find her. Because terrorist and all that aside, Peter still wants to make his father proud, in a morbid sort of way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

Peter did not admit it, but he had always been jealous of his dead half-sister.

It wasn't like he wanted a father. He didn't even need one. Contrary to popular belief, his life was pretty damn complete. He had a mom that could kick anyone's butt had anyone even thought of getting too close to her children, a twin sister that was slightly psychotic—which was understandable since their own father was borderline _insane_ —but pretty awesome with her psychic witchcraft whatever powers, and an adorable little sister who was the only person he'd ever sit still for because she smiled like everything was going to be okay – and sometimes, he thought it would be.

The idea of any other male presence in his life, besides all the policemen that came barging in every now and then, didn't really occur to him. The father figure had always been a blurred picture hung up the wall, holding his supposed dead older sister. That was as a far as he had thought to ever having a dad. Until of course, ten years ago when he broke out an extremely dangerous man— _mutant_ —from prison. It was all fun and games until he levitated an entire stadium and readied to kill the president in front of live television. Even now when he looked back on that day, his silver hair would still stand up, and he remembered little Aly's touch, her tight hold on his hand, wondering if things were going to be okay.

Post that, the guilt drove him mad. He ran all across town, all over the neighborhood, and returned all things he'd stolen—the ones he hadn't eaten or broken—until he felt so tired he threw up in front of his mom – all the twinkies and ice pops he'd consumed that day, carried along with the truth of his pentagon escapade. He was sure it wasn't the fatigue that caused his stomach to churn. His mom cried for hours, a shaking mess she was. But nothing could ever replace how he felt when she reached for his hair – because that's what she did when things went wrong—touch his hair gently with her fingers, and tuck the strands behind his ear to remind him that she was there, and always will be – and pulled back before she could even get too close.

He realized, she was afraid of him. And damn did she have every right to be. He was the son of a wanted terrorist who vowed to wipe out all humans, and even mutants, had they stood in his way. And what made matters worst, he was the son that broke his terrorist father out from the highly secured, most heavily guarded place on earth, because the thrill was just too much to miss out on. If the saying _the apple doesn't fall far from the tree_ held anything, his fate had been sealed and screwed the minute he was conceived.

However, nothing big happened for the next few years. He hadn't even heard of the guy in such a long time, he sometimes wondered if he was even still alive. His mom had already filled him in with the whole _he's your father_ discussion, starting from how they met—a sick love story if you asked him—and how they separated. So he kind of got why his father turned out to be such a mad man. The whole Anya incident, he deduced, had just been history waiting to repeat itself—and it did, ten years post the sentinel extravaganza, in the form of his father's new family. He threw up again, for the first time since he last watched his own father on tv, and this time there was even a little bit of blood mixed with the chunks of twinkies and foul smelling alcohol.

Then Apocalypse—they'd taken a liking to calling him that because that was basically what he had almost cost, and saying En Sabah Nur was just too much effort for Peter, if he had to be honest—came into the picture and no matter how many times he tried to brave the situation, just so he could tell his father about his identity, he just couldn't do it. Fighting a super villain with the power to wipe out the entire nation didn't seem so scary compared to telling Magneto he— _Peter_ —was his blood son. Also, there never was a right time—what with the exploding mansion, he and a bunch of the others getting kidnapped and trying to escape, and the fight against the four horsemen – one of which was the said father himself!!!! – and then when it came down to his father actually _asking him_ , he chickened out. Because really, when he thought about it, who wanted to hear your current opponent spout some nonsense about being your son when you've recently just lost your whole family, bearing pain that could easily be exploited, specially in moments such as then? He may have been faster than the tick of seconds, vibration of sounds and quite possibly the speed of light, but if anything, his timing sucked. So maybe another day—when his father wasn't so busy controlling a giant magnetic sphere, and he wasn't so busy getting his leg crushed into pieces by some wannabe God.

Another opening came just before Erik decided to finally leave the mansion. Peter hadn't really gotten around to deciding what he wanted to call him yet if not "Dad". Erik? Mr. Lehnsherr? Magneto? Mags? Magman? All he knew was every time they met in the hallway, out the vast yard, even every now and then in the living room, his mind called him dad, father, daddy-o, dadneto-man—but his lips, they refused, and halfway between the "d" he ended up calling him dude. Which was just as well—it was the kind of thing people called each other nowadays, right?

They held a small conversation as Charles wheeled away with Kurt and his barrage of aggravating questions, four days before Erik was set to leave, and three days after he finally got his cast off. Sure, his leg was still a little bit banged up in places here and there, and he still had to be on crutches for balance reasons, but it wasn't entirely broken any more. So he half walked and stumbled his way to Erik who was busy watching the other students through the living room windows.

"Hey man."

Erik turned to the struggling young man who, despite all the trouble he had making it all the way across the room, seemed to be chipper compared to the last couple of days.

"I see you've gotten better."

"Yeah, Big Blue said it had something to do with my mutation. Fast healing and all."

"Big blue?"

"I like giving people names."

Erik nodded, before he turned his attention back to the outside. Peter managed to get onto the chair closest to where Erik stood, and lay his crutches just right beside him.

"So, I heard you're leaving soon."

"Indeed I am." Erik nodded pleasantly. "I've done everything that was needed for me to do, and despite being Charles' old friend and sharing some common sentiment with the people here, it still does not change the fact that I follow a different ideology."

"I guess."

"How about you, young man, what do you believe in?"

"Me?" The question struck Peter a little by the heartstring, and he wanted to so badly say _you_ but he knew the word was a lump in his throat harder to swallow than his heart. "I want—I just want to have fun, and live with people like me, I guess."

"I see."

"I don't have big plans for the future. I'm a high school dropout with a bunch of stolen stuff lyin' around my mom's basement." Peter shrugged as Erik finally left the window to take a seat across Peter, giving him his full attention. "The only thing I was ever good at was running, whether it was running away from getting caught or running towards trouble, you name it, I get there with just enough time to spare."

He left out the part where he was always just a little bit too late when it came to his father but Erik didn't need to know that—at least not right now.

"I just want to make use of what I can do."

"And you suppose Charles will help you accomplish that?"

"It's not a bad thing, is it?"

"No." A soft smile—well, the softest someone like Magneto could offer—graced his father's lips. "It's good."

And Peter felt, for the first time, something he never thought he actually wanted. For someone—no, not just someone, but this very person that sat right in front of him—to be proud of what he'd done and the decisions he's made.

So when his father actually did leave, he felt a little sad, even though he'd never admit it. He tried to bypass it by busying himself training under Raven at the time Charles and Erik bid their usual farewells—old friend, professor, whatever the hell they wanted to call each other. It was fun and all, but he kind of wanted to give his father a proper send off and everything, but that would just look odd. So he stayed put.

He didn't think any other big thing would happen until at least for another five or ten years, given the last time. So imagine his surprise when news came barreling— _literally_ —into the mansion, not even half a year later at 2am in the morning in the form of gambit student Remy—the one that carried cards everywhere he went and had a knack for setting things off in explosions. Peter was eating cereal because he slept faster than a normal person—or he never actually slept properly at all—when the cherry brunette kid came in crashing through the window. Or so, he would have had the window not been opened. Bruised with slightly tattered clothes, Remy looked up to see Peter's casual stare, as if the scene was something he saw almost all the time—which it was.

"Kid, what are you doing now?"

He never really had enough moral in him to stop _all_ of Remy's _activities_ anyway.

"I've got news, for you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you're Magneto's kid right?"

"Sure."

It surprised Peter that the Professor hadn't found out about his relationship with Erik, given Raven's big mouth. Either he knew and didn't mention it out of respect—he's a mind reader for goodness' sakes—or genuinely didn't care enough to know. It sometimes baffled him that Charles wouldn't come out and talk to him about it, especially when everyone around him already knew – everyone being Raven, Hank, Ororo, Jean, Scott, Remy, Kurt, and he was pretty sure that Kitty Pryde doll knew as well even though she was only like, three.

"What's up?"

"Ever heard of Nina Gorzky?"

"No."

"Well, she's your half sister."

If Peter was any normal boy, the spoon would've dropped, and maybe clatter around the table for a bit. But Peter wasn't normal, and just like everything else in his life, he processed the information quite quicker than one usually would. Remy wasn't surprised though.

"That's great to know."

"And she's alive."

"Even better."

It was a few seconds of awkward silence—except a few seconds for Peter actually lasted hours and that was what pained him the most. He didn't know what Remy wanted of him, but the pointed look directed his way told him that he was expected to do something—rejoice, cry, _anything_.

"What do you want, kid?"

"Are you going to get her?"

"I don't even know where she is."

"I can tell you."

"And then what?"

"Maybe then you could make him happy, maybe change him back, I don't know."

"Why do care so much?"

"I don't. I thought I'd just let you know."

"Okay."

It may had been a quick conversation but Peter had never felt anything longer before. As soon as his cereal was done he hastily dropped his bowl and spoon into the sink, and sped up the stairs to his room. He then spent the next few hours mulling over what to do next.

The following day he paid a visit back home, to his now seventeen year old sister Aly who still smiled that beautiful smile, his mom who was tougher than ever, washing dishes by the sink and dancing to new classics, and his twin sister Wanda who came home for the week, lying across their couch flicking through the tv without even using a remote. He plopped down beside Wanda and spent half an hour watching her do whatever it was that she did, before he eventually got bored and left to help his mom make dinner.

They were silent, the whole way through their meals, but it wasn't the kind of silence that killed him inside—he liked that silence. The one where he heard his mom sip her soup and watched his twin grunt in distaste at his eating habits. One where Aly was happily tapping her fork and knife on the white sheeted table, the clicking sounds resonating across the whole room, and he could hear his own fast heartbeat above all other white noise. It was the kind of silence that harbored understanding.

When everyone was done eating and the table was cleared, Wanda went up to continue packing for university, his mom went downstairs to his old room to dust off some old stolen goods, and Aly went upstairs to grab the house phone so that she can talk to whatever new boyfriend she kept these days. He walked out of the house for just a few seconds to breathe in some fresh air, before he confronted his mother.

"You're going to look for her, aren't you?"

"Yeah." He lazily made his way over to the old arcade machine that hadn't been touched in a very long time. "I gotta see if she's still okay."

"She's not your responsibility, Peter. Neither is your dad."

"Yeah but, the mutant blood in me says otherwise."

"You haven't even told Wanda yet."

"Neither have you."

"I think it's best she doesn't know."

"She's not stupid mom, she probably knows like half of it already, if not all. She just doesn't talk about it because she doesn't care."

"She was never like you in that respect." Magda sighed as she sat down on the couch and watched helplessly the back of her only son. "You always wondered about your father. She never did."

"I never wanted a father. We were fine on our own mom."

"You keep saying that Peter, but your eyes say a lot more than what your mind prefers to think."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Even with someone as fast as you, I am still your mother. No telepath alive can tell better what you're thinking than I can."

"Super mom."

She laughed lightly as he turned to face her. Not even a second later, he was right in front of her, holding his hand out as he reached for the stray curled locks of brown hair on the side of her face. She stared at him, carefully taking note of how he gently and slowly—as slow as someone like Peter could manage anyway—tucked the strays behind her ears.

"I don't think I'll be able to visit for awhile."

"Of course."

She stepped forward to hug him, envelop him in the tightest hug she could ever give someone. Up the basement stairs Wanda stood, hands shakily wiped the streaks of tears that dared slip out of her control. She wanted to hit Peter, for always _always_ shouldering everything on his own. She wanted to go down and yell at him, or tell him _hey I'll come with you_ , but she couldn't. Because she knew it'd only make him more upset. Her powers slipped past her fingertips and she thanked God Peter was too busy bawling on their mother's shoulder to notice the slight flicker of the arcade game's monitor.

When the mother and son let go, Wanda was already on her way out of the driveway. Aly had been watching the car reverse and speed off, the red and orange lights blared across the silent neighborhood. Not everyone gave her credit because her silence meant so much to all of them, but she knew everything that went on within those very four walls of her family—how despite being one of the two humans, she was the odd one out, and how her brother was never really happy until he left for that boarding school, and how her sister who seemed to be the most grounded out of all of them was the one that struggled with feelings the most. She wondered how long it would last, the nice little picture they painted for themselves, before it all breaks into pieces and she finds herself replaced. She suddenly didn't like Mr. Erik Lehnsherr very much – not that she ever did, but at least back then she tolerated any mention of his name—now she couldn't stand even the thought of the guy.

It was a little late into the night when Peter finally decided to leave. Magda was sleeping—or she appeared to be—and Aly walked with her brother down the stairs as he shuffled around with his duffel bag. Like always with Aly, there was silence, of course until Peter broke it.

"You better be good."

"I always am." She laughed lightly, nudging his shoulder. "You be good too, and take care of her I guess."

"Hey, don't worry about it, she'll be fine if I ever find her."

"Yeah, but Pete?"

"Hm?"

"Come back home safe, okay?"

She kind of wanted to cry. Just the thought of her brother, never running into the house again, crowing about all his misadventures, it made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to grab his hand right there and then, and stop him from running away forever. So she tried. And she found she couldn't do it, hand mid-air. So she made him swear instead.

"Promise me, no matter what, however long it takes, I don't care, just please come back home."

His heart hurt a little. And he ruffled her hair gently.

"Yeah Als, I'll come home, okay?"

That was the last they spoke, for a _very_ long time.


	2. twenty stitches

To be fair, Peter already had an idea on who his father was, way before they actually met. He was mentioned twice, once when he was four and his powers started kicking in— _literally_ —and once more, the night before he broke the famed mutant out of the pentagon. It wasn't very often people around him talked about a man who could control metal—well, at least before the whole wiping out humans speech came to light—in everyday life, so Peter actually took note of those moments when the rare chances came by.

It was 1962, and Peter got in trouble for playing a prank on big bully Austin whatshisface. He put a tack on Austin's chair just as the boy got up to make fun of front nerd Mary Jane Allister. All but Austin saw the trick, and once the tubby boy sat down after pulling at Mary Jane's hair and making fun of her pastel ribbons, he shrieked an undeniably girlish ripple from his throat that had the whole class in a rave of laughs. Peter crowed out the most, though it was short lived—he was sucker punched right on the nose not even a minute later. A fight broke out, and Peter—small little Peter Maximoff—had been frightened. He never really was one to think of the consequences before actually _doing_ things. So he ran.

One thing people ought to know about Peter was that, he was different. He was born different – whether it was the color of his hair—silver for goodness sakes?!—or his family roots, he was just not accepted into standard society. His father was absent, which was not normal because everyone else had one a piece—a mother _and a father_ —and his real name wasn't exactly English—Pietro Django Maximoff apparently sounded weird and foreign. On top of that, he'd already been eccentric enough with his short attention span and impulsive thinking that always _always_ got him into colourful arrays of trouble _every single time_. So to make up for all these plot holes – he learned that word when his twin sister Wanda started shouting about it whenever she read her books—she was a genius and read a lot despite her young age because she liked to show off and brag about how smart she was compared to him by explaining how it's some big word that meant _inconsistency_ or _mistakes_ – in his life, he decided he'd make people happy, with whatever wit and funny jokes he had in him. Pranking and all that stuff was what made people _like him_ —or at least laugh _with him_ , instead of _at him_. His mother called it a defense mechanism—or whatever. But that didn't always work out.

So when big Austin came for him and he had nowhere else to go, he let his legs take him wherever they pleased, and somehow he ended up running faster than his heart could beat. He was in front of his house ten seconds later, and ten seconds before he could even process what was going on. His mom had seen everything through the window, and _dear god_ did she freak out. It wasn't until she sat him down and told him that sometimes, people were different, that they'd have abilities, skills or powers of some kind that made them separate from everyone else. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Though that didn't stop the tears Peter had been bawling out as his mom cooed at him. But then she told him a story, about a man who could bend metal, somebody she once knew. It calmed Peter down enough to face the truth. Unfortunately, it took Magda quite a bit of time to accept it herself. Oh woe, was she an awful mother.

They moved houses the very next day, and Peter could kind of guess it was all his fault. Unfortunately, he didn't have the heart to tell Wanda as she lugged her heavy box of books with her towards the brand new house, just outside of D.C. She grumbled about how unexpected it all was and _how did mom even get a house on such a late notice_ —Magda would never admit that she'd been prepared for that particular day ever since she found out she was pregnant with Erik's children. Peter always thought Wanda was too smart, too old-thinking to be his age. He secretly wondered if she was actually his twin, or just a really small older sister. In his new school, they took a field trip to the historical places of D.C. His mother packed him a nice lunch, and Wanda didn't come because she was getting absurd headaches that somehow caused odd things to happen at home. So it was just Peter and the new school, and no friends. He didn't even think the teachers liked him very much.

He got lost in front of Licoln, didn't know where to go, or who to talk to. The people at school didn't care enough to look for him. He supposed that's what he got for being so different—like it was his fault his hair was silver and he could slightly outrun all of them. That was the day he met a man, early thirties he thought, with a smile like a shark, and a cold blooded stare. Peter padded down the steps and accidentally knocked an old board with checkered browns and whites, and tiny pieces that went with it.

"Oops!"

He tripped, almost falling, until big arms caught him midway to planting his face on the concrete step.

"Watch where you're going, boy!"

Peter looked up, into steeled blue eyes, and he shivered. The man put him down gently on the ground, and asked if he was okay.

"Thanks old man."

This earned him a glare from the man, and he shrunk back and swallowed. Except, the man smiled, two seconds later, all teeth sharp and bared.

"You lost, kid?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay."

The man gestured for Peter to follow, and he did. They walked around aimlessly together for a few hours, until he saw Miss Levanny – the only teacher that he actually liked, and one that did like him back – frantically run around as if trying to find someone. Then she caught sight of him, and ran as fast as she possibly could, heels and all, make-up streaked in sweat, and knelt down to hug him.

"Oh Peter!" She cried out as he awkwardly wrapped his small arms around her back. "Thank goodness you're okay!"

Peter nodded against her shaking shoulder, tears blurred his doe crystal eyes. He wondered why he felt sudden warmth spread all over him. It must've been the heat, and Miss Levanny's suffocating hug. When she finally let go, she looked up to thank the man, except—he was no longer there. Peter wondered if it was just his imagination, but Miss Levanny saw him, surely.

"Who was the man you were with?"

"I don't know."

She smiled and breathed out, his answer seemed to be enough. After all, Peter was safe, and that was all she could ever hope for. She stood up and patted his cap covered head. She took hold of his wrist, and dragged him away. And as they walked towards the bench where everyone else had been waiting, he could swear he saw, at the corner of his eye, that same man, and another man, laugh together at a far distance.

_"Where were you, Erik?"_

_"Just looking around, Charles."_

_"Did you pack up our chess set?"_

_"Yeah, about that..."_

The next time the man who could bend—or control—metal was mentioned, it was by the scruffy bone man he called Sideburns, the one with the shades that came hollering at his door with the two other guys—Hippie and Glasses. They were checked in a hotel in D.C. and he shared the room with Sideburns while the other two shared another one. He was fifteen at the time and sped through his words faster than anyone could understand. Anxious and eager, he circled around the room, quite a bundle of energy.

"Kid, you gotta calm down."

"But do you have the prints for the pentagon yet and why do you guys need to break this guy out of prison anyway who is he anyway what'd he do that was so bad are you sure we should be taking the dude out I mean I'm all up for the thrill and everything but it'd be nice to be informed about why I'm doing what I'm about to do also is that hippie guy a druggie because he looks like he's about to sell me some acid any time soon now and what's with Glasses and those syringes does he always carry them around?"

Sideburns seemed to have been used to his blabbering mouth, though he didn't really get how. Usually it took some people a couple of days—maybe even months, more often than not, _years_ —to get used to him. But this guy dealt with him like he knew Peter all his life.

"First of all kid, remind me never to get you caffeine."

"Sure."

"Also, Hank and Charles are fine, they may look a little shady but they're good guys, trust me."

"Then why do you guys want to break that dude out of the pentagon?"

"That's classified information."

"Boo."

"But in time, I'm sure you'll know that what we did, it was for the greater good of our world, okay?"

"Fine but can you at least tell me about this badass villain that was so evil he ended up getting locked up somewhere as tight as the pentagon?"

"He's a mutant, just like us, he controls metal."

"Really that's cool I think my mom mentioned something like that before."

There was a smirk on Sideburns that Peter couldn't quite get. Slightly knowing, slightly mischievous, and to Peter, very suspicious. But the words that left his mouth left a pin drop.

"Heh, really? I bet she did."

"What do you know about my mom?"

"Nothing kid."

"Then—"

"But I know about you." Sideburns cut him off which was impressive since Peter talked faster—way way _way_ faster—than all other people in the world. "And someday kid, we're going to be great friends, and you'll tell me about all your issues, and everything you've been through. But right now, that can wait."

"What are you a time traveler?"

"You could say that."

It was all that was said before Sideburns decided to turn off the light. Peter of course stayed up the whole night doing a variety of other illegal activities—no drugs though, he swore—and if Sideburns knew about it, he sure as hell didn't say anything. It was a great mutual understanding.

When he thought back to those little moments, Peter couldn't help but grin, as if fate had been steering him along the right direction all this time—if the right direction was coming to terms with having a terrorist for a father. His mom was right when she said he'd always been wondering about having a father all his life—as content as he may have been with just her, Wanda and Aly, he realized that when he heard the possibility of a father figure, no matter how much he wanted to shake off that fluffy feeling curdling away in his chest, he couldn't quite get rid of it. Because deep deep _deep_ down inside of him, he had already long accepted Magneto as his father—terrorist, mad man and all. He'd be lying if he said he couldn't live without his father – because he could and he proved that twenty-six years of his life—minus the fact that he was just living in his mom's basement and all but details, and also, he's alive right? – but it was a nice thought that there was someone he could somewhat lean on, and aspire to make proud. Peter never had any big plans or goals, but hell did making his father smile and accept him, be proud of him, feel like it might just be one.

So there he was, a van through a forest, with the most unlikely bunch of people he'd never expected to be with. There was Remy, good ol' Remy who set the whole thing up, with matchbox cards and a stick in hand. Then there was scared little Anna Marie, aged twelve, just beside him with gloved hands shaking and pale lips from the frostbite. Another he recognized was black haired kid Bobby, the one they called Sunspot. There were a bunch of other mutants too, ones he never talked to, ones he never cared about. Peter had been the eldest among the group, followed only by Remy at the mere age of sixteen. He had no idea what these kids wanted, what they were aiming for. All he knew was that they were there with some sort of purpose that pulled all of them north into an underground facility, guises of captured mutants for the government to experiment on. Peter thought, _Remy always did have a sick and twisted past time_.

"Whatever happens, fellas and little ladies, when we get there, it's every man for himself."

Everyone nodded silently, and Peter breathed in the pine breath of winter. The van stopped and there was a lot of shuffling outside. The mutants sat still, heads turned to the exit, ready for action. Peter had been itching since that morning to run, and the chance finally came, three seconds later as soldiers opened the van doors. The mutants flooded out, cards in explosions, trails of fire and the ground crumbled beneath them. Peter ran fast, all things in slow motion, and no one even noticed the silver blur.

He got past the main guards by the entrance, and a few more along the way. The hallways were filled with many men high on alert, plastic guns all ready to shoot, but he was faster than any bullet in the world, and wittier than anyone else in that godforsaken facility. Peter could may well be invisible if he just ran around in circles, but he wanted to find his sister—well, _half_ -sister—as soon as possible. So he wasted no time getting from the main hall all the way to the left wing, soldiers geared with all kinds of weapons hot on his trail—to their credit, he may had been too fast for them but he's sure those guys were faster than any other non-speedster he'd known—shooting all around in hopes of hitting him on time.

About fifteen minutes of aimless running, chasing and shooting around, Peter had enough and decided to hide himself up the vents. He slowly—and _painfully_ —crawled around and looked down as he tried to find any clues to where his half-sister may be. Another fifteen minutes went by before he found himself above what seemed to be a lab, overhearing a hushed conversation between an old guy in a lab coat, and someone he was very familiar with since their last encounter.

_Stryker._

"Will the guards be able to handle those misfit mutants mucking around?"

Lab Coat asks, a syringe in hand. Translucent yellow liquid oozed out of the needle and Peter felt sick – not just because the color reminded him of a certain body fluid, but also because he knew exactly _who_ and _what_ the liquid was for.

"I assure you, no metal controlling, mind reading, fast running, face changing or teleporting mutant is going to be able to escape the minute they get in."

"Children are pitiful, aren't they? So desperate and curious, they lead themselves to their own demise."

"You would know that doctor, right?"

Lab Coat smirked, and Peter started getting antsy as he waited around for any information— _anything_ at all—for his sister's whereabouts. He was about to give up, ready to speed off and kill Remy for dragging him into this pointless mess, when another conversation struck and this time, one that held all answers Peter had been dying to hear.

"It was lucky of us to run back and find the remains of Magneto's family. The wife we disposed of, but that mutant child – she is the answer to many of our questions." Peter's hand balled into a fist, his knuckles turned white as Lab Coat continued to speak. "How powerful Magneto is, how indestructible his powers are. And most importantly, a weakness—a weapon—against one of the most dangerous mutants in existence."

"She has been co-operative, as children are always so mindless, trusting every adult that promises them happiness."

"How dreadful."

A crackling sound.

"All mutants have already been caught, I hear."

Brown eyes widened, and pale lips bled from biting too hard onto the flesh.

"Brilliant, then it's time to bring our sweet little bird her dinner, perhaps?"

"Yes."

Stryker left and Peter's heart rattled wildly against his chest. For someone who processed everything faster than the speed of sound, he surely had a slow time getting himself together. _Shallow breaths_ , he thought in an attempt to calm down the pulsing nerves, before he sped crawl along the vent walls, following Stryker as he went past the kitchen to grab a tray, and then into sliding doors that lead into a long hallway. Peter sensed a bit of déjà vu— _like father like daughter_ , he supposed, and Peter was a thin line stuck in between.

Stryker finally opened the last door, and there she was, poor Nina—only six months older but she's aged about twenty years. Peter could cry at the sight, bile in his throat before he swallowed up the temptation. She was thin, very thin, bones sharp and clinging desperately to her skin. Her hair had been a brittled mess, and her eyes stared brown and blank into nothing. Stryker approached her, and Peter jumped down on impulse, breaking through the cased vent of glass and plastic, but before he could even reach the ground Stryker had already turned with a gun aimed right to his forehead. Wide eyed, Peter realized, his powers had been compromised.

"You didn't honestly think I hadn't known you were here all along, did you?"

"Let her go." Peter gritted his teeth. " _Now_."

"And why do you care about this girl? Isn't Magneto your enemy?"

"I care about my kind being tortured and experimented on."

"You sound just like him. Are you sure you two aren't _related_?"

That was the last straw. Peter moved fast—not quicksilver fast, but fast enough. Stryker pulled the trigger, gunning for the shoulder, but Peter had been bullet timed—and god was he thankful to Raven for all the training sessions where she denied him the use of his powers. He grabbed Nina quick, and made a mad dash for the door. Stryker reacted just in time to jump right in front of them. But Peter expected it.

"Mystique X-Men training lesson number one, _never_ rely on your powers alone."

He pulled his hand and revealed a small metal cylinder. He threw it down the ground and gas exploded out. Stryker choked as it filled his lungs with strong burning toxins. Peter ran out, Nina just behind him, eyes still blank and lifeless. But he couldn't worry too much about it because he was already surrounded by a big group of soldiers. He looked around, still recovering from the temporary lost of his powers, senses still gearing for prep, when someone shot Nina, and he had no choice but to jump over. There was a scream, and it _almost_ snapped Nina out of her daze. Peter had fallen to the ground as the men headed for him. But they couldn't touch him.

Aces and queens floated mid air before exploding in a circle. The sparks surrounded the half-siblings in protection, and Remy stood right in front of Peter, staff in a defensive stance.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Peter choked out. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet, we still have to get you out of here."

"You said every man for himself?"

"Well be happy, I've got a soft spot for you and your dad."

And Peter smiled, just a little bit, and Nina looked up to see something— _someone_ —very familiar. The eyes may have been different, but the warmth in them was something she could never forget. So she touched Peter's hair and whispered— _Papa_.

Peter was stunned. And Remy slammed his staff on the ground. Cards floated and exploded and Peter took the chance—motivated by the silent plea of Nina's voice—and took off, Nina's head carefully held by his palm as they sped through hundreds of guards and soldiers. Sunspot met them halfway out, and gestured for the escape van. It seemed that everyone had already done what they wanted to do—and God knows what that was. They arrived at the back exit, a camou van ready to drive off. Peter lifted Nina up, and placed her on Anna Marie's lap. The latter was about to protest, when he turned to her, eyes pleading.

"I gotta go back for Remy."

"But he'll be fine."

"Trust me, he won't be."

He didn't bother to hear her speak another word, instead he ruffled Nina's hair as she reached out for him. But he left as quick as she called. Peter ran back, knocking over guards and soldiers, and saw Remy a fair distance away in a fight, cornered by a large group of men.

"Dude!"

Peter ran to the crowd, taking all their weapons and throwing them aside before he stopped back to back Remy and his mischief eyes.

"Came back for me, didn't you?"

"You're sweet, Remy. I didn't think you'd orchestrate a whole break in and escape just for me."

"And what gave you that idea?"

Remy asked but his smirk said it all. More men came running towards them and Peter quickly grabbed Remy's head and hand, and ran out the gaps he could find. With the amount of people, it was harder – but not impossible. They finally got to the exit, just a few feet away from where everyone else was waiting, and guards were still following them all over. Peter knew exactly what he had to do.

"Kid—"

"Gambit, call me Gambit."

Peter grinned.

"Gambit, please take _my sister_ back _home_."

"Wha—"

"And thank you."

Before Remy could even respond, he was already being thrown straight into the van as Peter gestured wildly for the driver to step on it. The van skidded out of the place, through the woods, and no guards or soldiers chased them as Peter stood on their way and gave the men a literal run for their money. His shoulder hurt, and blood dripped carelessly. But he had a crazy grin on, and even if he got caught he'd be fine, as long as Nina's fine— _as long as Erik's happy_.

"Man, I'm gonna need like twenty stitches once I'm done with you bozos."


	3. love me and leave me to die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things. This chapter was inspired by a clip from the Rogue cut, and I don't speak Polish so I've just bolded the parts they're supposed to be speaking in Polish. And lastly, I hope you get that reference in the very last part :)

Magda Maximoff used to drink— _a lot_. Peter was thirteen going fifteen, and his powers were driving him insane. Every single second was an eternity away, and everyone was just _so damn slow_. He couldn't wait forever for everything. So Peter found an _unusual_ method to relieve all his frustration—one that Magda did not approve of.

It started with a bottle of Jack that Peter had stolen. She found it left open in the kitchen countertop, half empty. She guessed it wasn't really Peter that drank it—kid never touched root beer in his entire life, never mind real beer, or any form of alcohol whatsoever—so she let it slide. There was a lot of paper work to be signed off as she neared another separation – this time, with her second husband Jason. That and arranging Aly's schedule to fit her and his schedule—on Mondays to Thursdays she'll have Aly, and over the three day weekend he'll have Aly—plus Peter's increasingly excessive run ins with the cops, and Wanda's rebellious act, it was safe to say that Magda was more than just stressed. Three kids—two of which were _mutants_ , by the way—with no father was a difficult task, and she found herself regrettably missing Erik for the first time in years. So she turned her grievances to the loyal company of Jack, which catalyzed three long years of alcoholism.

Her neglect for her children began, just two months into the phase. Coincidentally—or, not so—Peter spent more and more time out stealing and _borrowing_ things he didn't need, and getting to know the local officers that patrolled their area – Officer Jenny with her beautiful chocolate skin, and Officer Mark and his long list of ex wives – than at home. Wanda was another story – she'd fight with Magda any chance she got, all screams, curses and no coherence, because it was somehow her mom's fault that they weren't normal— _it wasn't_. And Aly never told her father about the things that happened within that small house outside of D.C., especially since he never seemed too interested in her well being to begin with. Jason was a front businessman who knew all things money and reputation. And despite falling hard for Magda the first time around, all the silver hair and fast talking, coupled with the collapsing floors and light bulbs unexpectedly bursting, he just couldn't deal. So he packed up his bags and ran as far as he could, keeping as little contact as possible with his ex wife and blood daughter. At least Magda could admit that Erik never ran away from the responsibility of having children— _she_ was the one that left _him_ , she had to remind herself.

She stopped when Peter was fifteen. She remembered that time because a lot happened within the span of a few weeks. A trio of rough looking men came knocking on her door and she could only guess what her son had done then. Fortunately they weren't there for his arrest, unfortunately so, they were there for something much worse – breaking her first husband out of prison—or pentagon, whatever you want to call it. That day she let them in because she knew absolutely nothing about what was to come. It wasn't exactly like she cared at that time – she was half drunk in daylight and her son was downstairs swimming in a pool of items he'd stolen whilst her eldest daughter was upstairs probably making out with one of her boyfriends. The only well behaved child was Aly, and even then her presence alone grated Magda's nerves.

"Go bug your sister."

She lazily called as the three men casually strolled into their house and down to the basement, drink in hand and eyes on the never ending reruns of semi violent and tragic films that had her at least thinking _hey, my life could be a whole lot worse_. All she knew was her son went missing for the rest of the day, and the day after, only to come back the third day with a rental car full of twinkies and snickerdoodles. He showered his sister with the so-called gifts and even had a few bottles of tequila and vod for Magda to enjoy. Her son's thoughtfulness never seized to amaze her, even in her drunken state of mind.

But it all fell apart when she saw— _dear god_ —Erik Lehnsherr on live tv, declaring the age of mutants. Everything got even more frantic when her son ran off, missing for three whole days— _once again_ —and when he came back he was throwing up like there was no tomorrow. He confessed, and her world somehow stopped. The family dynamic shifted. Wanda ran away—only for a week, but the fact was that she _ran away_. Peter was going crazy – the basement was bare and empty, and everything seemed like it was all closing up on him. Aly stayed for the rest of the week— _month_ —in her father's house. And Magda barely spoke to her two other children. She couldn't even drink the rest of the liquor Peter kept leaving in the kitchen counter top. God, she was an awful mother.

But things gradually got better, over the years. Magda learned to love them again – not like she _ever_ stopped—she digressed. Peter stole again, which wasn't so much as good news as it was just relief that things were somewhat back to normal. And Wanda started focusing on her studies more – she argued, _at least one of us has to finish high school and college and I'm sure as hell that it's not going to be Peter_. Peter resented that—but not nearly as much as he loved it. Because his mother was talking to him again, and his sister no longer made out with ugly boys, and Aly was finally back for the weekdays so he could stroll around the park with her without having to worry about anything else. Magda saw that acceptance was a hard earned thing. And even though Peter looked so much like his father's younger self, _he was not Erik_. And he never will be.

Until, of course, when Peter decided to go off and save Nina who—in Magda's own _humble_ opinion—had nothing to do with her family at all.

_Lies._

It was nearly six in the morning when the banging came. She woke up sharp and alert, and ran as fast as she could to the front door. Aly woke up as well and was stomping down the stairs as her mom struggled with shaking hands to open the door.

"Mom!"

"Aly, get this door open!"

Aly ran fast to her mom and shuffled for the keys. The banging didn't stop, and it was insistently getting louder by the second, which didn't help at all—especially since in their panicked state, the keys kept falling to the floor.

"Hold on!"

After a few more minutes, they finally got it unlocked, and the door swung. Aly and Magda took a step back, and a boy—dark haired in winter light—came in with a small figure.

"Mrs Maximoff."

He whispered, regrettably, and Aly took a step back before she sprinted out the room. Magda shook in her spot

"This is Nina."

"Where's my son?"

"Mrs Maxi—"

"Where the hell is my son?!"

Magda moved so fast to grab Remy's collar, it made him wonder if it really only was Magneto that passed down the Mutant X gene to his speedster son.

"He's still at the facility."

It only took half a second for Magda to slap Remy right on the cheek. And he didn't even flinch, or retaliate. Nina watched, clueless in the background as the chaos unfolded before her very eyes. Magda was screaming at Remy, voice sharp and shrill, and Aly came back short of breath, on the phone, hastily speaking to whoever – it might've been herself by the looks of her frustrated growls and curses. Remy stood there and took it all in, because he knew rightly it was all his fault. Peter came back for him. If he didn't, if he'd just left him, Peter wouldn't have had to stay behind and stall for them. And he'd be home and safe with his sister— _his family_. It was slightly ironic; Magneto never was a lucky man, and to think he'd have to lose a child to gain back the other one—it was absurd.

"Aly, call your sister!"

"Mom I'm—"

"Aly, goddamnit, call your sister!"

"Mom I'm already on it!"

"And why the hell did all of you manage to escape but not my son?!"

"Mom, she's not picking up!"

"Of course she won't pick up, it's six am! Try harder!"

"But mom!"

It was too much. Nina backed away, slowly. Palm on her ears to block the screaming and fighting and Remy stepped back, to ensure she didn't go beyond the door frame. He knew she was scared, he knew she had no idea what was going on. He knew all the people, all the happenings were strangers to her. But hell be damned if he let the one thing he promised Peter, slip past his fingers. So he firmly stood his ground, and with a slam of his staff, the whole house went quiet.

"I'm sorry for what happened."

Magda snapped.

" _I'm sorry_? That's all you have to say, I'm sorry?!"

"Mom—"

"After deluding my son into going with some stupid plan you've concocted to save this— _this girl_ —who God knows what she's capable of and has absolutely nothing—"

"It was Peter's decision, he had the right to know!

"I don't care!"

"She's his sister! She's _his_ family!"

"This was a mistake, I shouldn't have let him go!"

"Peter can do whatever he wants."

"And see where that bloody led us to!" Magda screeched and Remy tightened his hold on Nina. "Why do you care so much anyway?!"

"I owe Magneto some leverage."

Magda scoffed. A few minutes of silence passed, and she let herself be lulled into a sense of false calm. She breathed in deeply, counted to ten, and then moved to make room. Remy sighed in relief. He nodded curtly in thanks, and took a step into the house. Nina followed, her grip tight on the hem of his shirt. Aly was nowhere to be found. Magda closed the door, and turned to stare at the two figures before her.

"At least you're honest."

Aly came rushing to the group from the living room door, breathless and frantic. She held the phone close to her heart, and Remy silently whistled at her tight tank top and pyjama shorts.

"Wanda's on her way."

"Who?"

"Where?"

"She's going to save Peter."

With a hard swallow, Magda nodded.

"Pack your things."

"Where are we going mom?"

"To New York."

Remy got the message, and excused himself. Nina reached for him as he headed for the door, but Magda grabbed her hand.

**"We're going to see your papa."**

**"Papa?"**

**"Yes, Papa."**

It was a long four hours to the school. The Maximoff car followed diligently after the van – which oddly enough, had changed itself white overnight. Magda drove, and Aly rode shotgun. Nina stayed at the back, her eyes out the window to dark highways and the slight peer of the sun through grey dusted skies. There was too much concrete, not enough forests—not enough animals. It saddened her. But the thought of seeing her papa, it gave her a sense of hope. Somehow, she hasn't felt like herself for a long time now. She wondered about the man with the silver hair, and his eyes that told her _everything is going to be alright_. She didn't understand a word he said, but she knew just by how he held her, that she could trust him with her life and he would never fail her.

**"Do you know who your father is?"**

Aly asked, her Polish a little rusty, but her mom taught her nonetheless. She looked through the rear view mirror.

**"Henryk."**

**"Do you know what he's done?"**

**"He's my papa, that's all I know."**

"Aly." Magda hissed. "Stop."

"I'm just asking her."

"You're going to make her feel uncomfortable."

"She already is mom, she doesn't know either of us. For all she knows, we could be taking her away and selling her off to—"

"But we're not."

"But you want to."

"And I supposed you'd want your brother's efforts to go to waste."

That shut her up.

"No."

"Then behave."

Despite her strong front, Magda was in turmoils. Her grip on the steering wheel was unbearably tight, but she couldn't calm herself knowing that her son was out there, god knows what was happening to him, and to top it all of, she was en route to meet her ex husband—one she left those many years ago, pregnant and scared—to deliver his supposed dead daughter to him. Thankfully, Wanda was off to find Peter, which was a good head start because that was something she couldn't take care of right now. She could only pray to god that Wanda doesn't get caught up in the mess—this would leave Magda with two missing children and no matter how infuriating they both were, she didn't think she could live with losing them both. They were her children after all, loud-mouthed, fast talking, junk stealing, floor collapsing aside.

"Are we there yet?"

It was hours later when Aly spoke. Though it was met with silence. She knew they were close – she could see the landscape—the curves and trees that surrounded what seemed to look like a castle – but she was desperate for _anything_ to break the silence. A four hour drive with only the sound of breathing to get her through was not her ideal of a Saturday morning. And the worst part was, it allowed the worries to plague her mind of what her brother _might_ be going through. She at least could say she now knew how it felt like to be Peter, constantly waiting for time to just get a move on with it.

"We're here."

Magda stopped the car, and Aly was quick out the door. She ran to the van parked right in front them, and tried to make small talk with the mutants there. Remy humored her, because he understood. Everyone else stayed silent, the lack of presence from the over boasting and constant vibrations of a certain speedster left them all speechless. Magda knew that Aly did not want to deal with Nina right now. But Magda was different. Anger aside, she still felt the compassion of a mother – and no matter the result of Nina's rescue, she could no longer condemn her. The whole shouting in front of her at six am was enough.

The school was oddly quiet, for ten am on a Saturday. Magda couldn't tell if it was because of the lack of students—most she knew were part of the group that was with her son before he disappeared—or the anxiety she felt as she made her way closer to the front door steps of the renowned _school for the gifted_. Upon arrival, Remy had left with the other mutants in a secret passage she and her daughter were probably not allowed to use. Aly trudged towards her, and Nina – silent as ever – overlooked the area, and winked at the very few birds that fluttered above them. Magda thought, now or never. And then she knocked.

Inside, the professor had been up all night, a nervous wreck as he awaited the arrival of his students.

He knew of Remy's midnight journeys—he never usually questioned it because he also knew that the kid had his own reasons and was usually lead by either Erik or Mystique. But lately, he'd been taking missions on his own, and that worried Charles to death. Remy had always been the rebel of the group – there had been many disobedient students but Remy just took the cake of it all – but he never went too extreme. Charles never wanted to constrain any of his students – an unspoken agreement between he and Erik went by that allowed their wards to choose their own path, be it the peaceful hope that Charles presented or Erik's radical reasonings – but he was still responsible for their safety. And Charles was beginning to fear the influence Erik had on the kid—granted, the last mission Remy took with Erik that Charles was aware of had been, at the least, three months ago—not only because of the possibility of Remy swaying towards Erik's ideal, but also because he was a wanderlust, with so much more adrenaline and thirst for danger than he could control. And that would only lead to Remy's demise—he'd seen it in others, how it destroyed them as people, and god help Charles if it happened to one of his students.

When the culprits arrived in a line through the back door, he turned to them, eyes glared stern toward their guilty faces. He knew something happened—he knew it very well. Charles didn't need to read their minds to know that a key person left with them, and never managed to come back.

"Where is Peter?"

He asked calmly, tempted to use his powers, but willed against.

"Prof, there's something we need to tell you."

"Why did you all leave?"

"Can't you just read our minds?" Anna Marie croaked out. "It'd be easier that way."

"Easier yes, but I do not wish to intrude."

"You do it all the time."

Blonde rebel kid John Allerdyce whispered. But it did not go unheard.

"Prof." Remy stepped in, hands up to restrain the others from speaking further. "There's something—no, _someone_ —you need to see."

"What happened, Remy?"

Remy did not respond. Instead he took another step forward, and grabbed Charles' hand. Gently he brought it up to his forehead. And Charles saw it—he saw it all. From the night of cereals and unbroken windows, and the events of the last night.

"Oh God." Charles shook. "Remy, get Hank, _now_."

"Yes prof."

"And the rest of you, to bed now."

"But what about _you_ professor?"

"We have guests."

Meanwhile, up north in the secluded facility, where many mutants fell victim by the hands of one William Stryker, chained and collared—Peter. He stood with his arms and legs spread like a giant ex in the middle of the underground room. Lab Coat—Peter called him because he didn't care or liked the guy enough to bother learning his real name—paced up and down in front of Peter, marveling in his helpless state.

"Well, even the wind can be caught." Lab Coat chuckled as Peter weakly sneered at him. "What's your name, boy?"

"Seth Wosmer."

Peter smirked.

"Amusing."

With a hit of the button, a shock stung Peter's neck, traveling all across his body, numbing every one of his senses for a minute. He screamed louder than when En Sabah Nur broke his leg—and that was _painful_ —head wildly shaking in protest. It stopped and his body sagged against his bindings. He was breathless.

"I don't chase for answers boy."

"You know my name, you don't have to ask."

"But then where's the fun in that?"


	4. slightly broken's just what i need

It was all hazy. Needles pierced through his neck, little shocks of electricity tingled across his skin, and serums dosed into his bloodstream, numbing his senses and weakening his powers. They'd truly been relentless in their torture or experimentation—or _what the fuck ever_. They were just men following orders, _sure_ —they were just as bad as those who ordered them. Peter couldn't care less _whoever the fuck_ they were—they put him through hell and that was all that mattered. When he gets out— _if_ he gets out—they're all dead to him.

But Peter had to hold onto some sort of sanity. They were all crazy sure— _and so was he_ —but losing his mind was exactly what these guys wanted. They wanted him to lose his fight and succumb to whatever game they played, and whatever role they had prepared for him. Like hell he'd have them do whatever they wanted with his powers – only Peter could decide what he did with his own abilities. The whole world could end right then and there, and these men could die, and he'd still fight to stay sane. He was not going to forget who he was – a well taught lesson by his mother – and all be damned if anyone dared to make him.

"Agh!"

His scream cut through the air as another shock startled his whole body. He spasmed helplessly against his bindings. The ugly Lab Coat laughed at his suffering form, doll and ragged, bleeding from the mouth—he could hardly breathe. There was a cackle in that old man's voice, so proud of his pleasant work, and Peter shuddered for the first time—scared for his life. Sure, Apocalypse had been scary, and sure the mutant god or whatever had broken his leg. But at least he had reasons to brave the man – because he had powers and he wanted to gain control of the world, fighting for _their_ kind. He felt some kind of kinship with Apocalypse. However, these men were just regular people, with so much hatred in them—enough hatred to put a poor innocent person through so much obscenities just because they were slightly different. Peter did not fear Apocalypse because of what he could do—he feared these men because of what they couldn't do. Mutants—no matter how scary their powers may be, Peter did not fear them. But humans were different, they had no such power, or abilities, they had no reason to fight back—they just did – because they could and wanted to. The insanity of these men were what scared Peter the most. No wonder his father hated them.

But his mother was different, and he loved her, and Aly was also one of the best things in his life. So death await, he'd never show a feared face because he was fighting for the light of hope that there were still some good left in these people. And most importantly, he was Magneto's son – whether his father knew it or not – and he would not shame such a title in front of humanity's worst. They did not deserve it.

"Time for the third dose of the day."

Lab Coat grinned, cheshire and teeth. He walked towards the captive, hand calloused, and gently patted Peter's cheeks. The boy responded with a spit to Lab Coat's face, crimson dripped from his forehead right down to the tip of his nose.

"My, my, still as disobedient as ever." He slapped Peter, and the boy gagged with more blood spluttering out of his mouth. "You're in my territory boy, don't ever forget that."

"Technically it's Stryker's territory."

Peter had never fading wit, and it thrived the more he was persecuted. Call it what you will—defense mechanism of some sort, or just plain stupidity on his part—but it had been borne out of years of torment, and kept him together all those years of alienation.

"Smart."

Another electric shock went through Peter's body and this time it didn't stop for _a very long time_. Peter screamed, wretched in agony, he swung wildly against the chains. His throat burned _stop stop!_ But his state only made Lab Coat grin wider, and press the button harder. The voltage shot up and Peter was shaking so bad the chains were chipping off. His heart in palpitations, seizures all over his body and breathless in his tantrum. His brain had been fried, he didn't even notice Lab Coat inject in another dose of that ugly yellow stuff he so badly hated. It wasn't until ten minutes later that Lab Coat stopped, and Peter was left a messy heap of broken skin and shattered soul on the wall.

"That's fine. You being slightly broken's just what I need."

Lab Coat padded out the sliding doors. Peter, in his weak state, stilled. Blood clogged his throat and despite spitting out words, all that came out was red liquid, tangy like the metal his father had been known for. He felt his heartbeat, slow and rattled. There wasn't a lot of things he accomplished in this lifetime—maybe meeting his father was all that the universe had been waiting for. He thought he finally found something— _somewhere_ —he belonged to. But that was now being taken away from him. Happiness was hard to find, specially when the world moved as slowly as it did for him. And if that wasn't punishment enough, every bit of joy he'd earned for himself never stayed. He's had enough.

He wanted to die.

_Peter._

The whole world could end now, he didn't give a fuck anymore.

_Peter?_

Let the hell swallow him up and burn this whole place down.

_Peter!_

Eyes fluttered and darted. One more blink, and he turned to his right. There at the top of the basement staircase, his mom stood, a disapproving look on her face. How did he not hear her come down?

"What are you doing?"

He hid the box so fast no normal person could tell it was ever there—they might've thought it was some trick of the light or something. But this was his mom and she knew him better than he knew himself.

"What's with the box?"

"What box?"

"Don't act innocent Peter."

He huffed. Sixteen and pouting, he left to bring the box out again. He poured the contents down on his little sofa.

"I found it in your room I hope you don't mind me looking through your stuff."

"Of course I mind Peter." Magda rolled her eyes. "But I can't stop you even if you do it. In fact, nobody can."

"Why do you have old men stuff in your drawer are they all Jason's stuff shouldn't you return it all to him?"

Magda didn't reply. Instead, she let her hand carefully inspect the spilled contents. From the pocket watch, broken pair of glasses, to the torn and burnt pictures of an age she could hardly remember. There were even long letters she'd written back then, coffee colored from all those years of being buried under her new life, and a locket that once bound her to the man named Eisendhardt.

"You know who these belong to, Peter. Like I said, don't try to act innocent." Peter faltered. "I should've thrown these all away."

"Why do you still keep it around do you think he'll ever come back?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"I thought one day, whenever I decided to tell you the truth, this box would speak for itself." She sighed and bent down, picked up the pieces, one by one, and placed them back in the box. "But I guess he spoke for himself on that television."

"Was he always like that you know _human-hating-world-dominating-and-probably-crazy_?"

"He's been through a lot Peter. Your father's not crazy."

"Really?"

"He's damaged is what he is."

"Why did he leave you?"

"He wanted vengeance, I wanted peace."

"So he left his family to become a terrorist?"

"I didn't think he'd turn out like this."

"Why I thought he wanted—"

"He wanted to kill Shaw, but I wanted him to stay. He couldn't stay, he told me to wait, but I couldn't wait. So we parted. His hatred for humans—it all started with a fire. Your older sister died."

"So he hates humans because they were the reason she died."

"Something like that."

"How can he love you and hate your race?"

"I don't know."

"Well I don't mind him as a father he seems kinda cool."

"He's a terrorist Peter, you said it yourself."

"There's gotta be more to him than just that."

"There is."

"And I've met him so I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be."

She looked up, hand on the last piece—the photograph. He looked down into her sullen eyes, slightly sad, slightly terrified. But most of all, there was long lost love. She stood straight, and gently handed him the photograph. He let a minute pass by before he took it. He eyed the image of his broken family, young Erik and Magda, standing together with a baby between them. There was a smile on Erik's face, one he never thought he'd see on the scrunch of the man's frown. His arm was scarred with numbers that once replaced his name.

"This is the same picture from the one hanging up our staircase."

"I know, this was his copy."

"He didn't want it?"

"No."

With a shake of her head, she turned her back to him, and readied to walk up the stairs. But there was a pull in her heart as she eyed from the corner, her son, sat down as he inspected the photograph with wide brown of eyes of longing and curiosity. She swallowed hard, and stopped halfway up the first step.

"If you ever meet your father again, return those to him." Peter looked up, alarmed. "I don't want anything to do with him anymore, but closure would be nice."

"You'll let me meet him?"

She turned back to look at him.

"You'll want to, someday."

"But I—"

"Like I said Peter, I can't stop you. Nobody can."

He scoffed, a little smile curved up his lips. His mom was finally up the stairs, out of the basement. He looked back at the box, and placed the photograph on top of everything else. He closed it, picked it up, and hid it in a place only he would ever know. _One day_ he thought.

Eyes snapped open. Peter brought his head up, shallow breaths as he looked around and tried to make sense of what was happening, where he was and what he was doing. It took a minute before memory came back to him. After awhile, he just scoffed, another smile, just like the one before. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't die— _not just yet_. There were so many things he had left to do. So he held onto that memory, a reminder that there was a box beneath his Pacman machine, just waiting to be opened, and given back to its rightful owner.

With determination, Peter straightened up, and began to try and wriggle his way out of the chains. No luck whatsoever, and he bit his lip, ready for another go at vibrating free. Then suddenly, an idea clicked to him. A little unorthodox, and god only knows what the consequences would be. But he had no other choice. He breathed in deeply. Peter's never tried this before. He had an idea – he didn't read a lot but he liked comics enough to know that it may work. He braced himself.

In a small Canadian village covered in effervescent snow, just a few hours earlier, a girl sat drinking at a pub house, eyes dazed as she stared at her glass of yellow gin. The little place was quaint, wooden with a radio happily chirping old songs. Her attire was simple, one any normal college girl would wear. And she had blonde hair that stood out amongst the dark haired men that littered the small rundown place at one pm in the afternoon. Suddenly, there was a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to face the bar owner.

"Miss Smith?"

He asked skeptically, the pub phone in hand.

"Yes?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"For you."

He handed her the phone, and she looked down at it accusingly. He pushed it further into her hands, and with a roll of her eyes, she took it, already knowing who would be on the other line.

"What do you want LeBeau?"

"I didn't actually think you'd be there." A husky voice whispered through the speaker, and she drank to that. "I need a favor from you."

"Of course, because you never call just to greet me." She hissed, one hand up to gesture for another drink. "It'd be nice every once in awhile to hear a, _hey Tabs how are you_ or _hey Tabitha it's nice to see you doing well_."

"If you want someone interested in your personal life I suggest you get a boyfriend."

"Whatever." She finished the last drop of her drink, as the bartender moved to hand her another glass. "What do you want?"

"Up in Alkali Lake, there was recent movement by a facility that took mutants and experimented on them."

"I heard it was Stryker again."

"It is."

"When did he move in?"

"A couple of days ago, after our infiltration."

"Well, that guy has always had a fetish for that place. I wouldn't be surprised if the next time he moves he'll just come back in full circle to that place again." She chuckled to herself, index finger tapping the crystal rim of her glass. "Anyway, how do you even know if this is legitimate?"

"I heard the information from the professor himself."

"Look at you using your privileges." She scoffed, taking another sip from her drink. "Meanwhile I have to scrape by with information brokers and black market traders to get any news on the mutant community."

"That's not the point."

"Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"There's a mutant captive—his name is Peter Maximoff."

" _Maximoff_?"

The blonde girl stood up, clutching the phone hard against her ear.

"Yes, why?"

"I've heard of that last name."

"Where?"

"Have you ever heard of Wanda Maximoff?"

"Sounds vaguely familiar, who is she?"

"She goes to the same university as me, smart kid. She has a twin, as far as I know."

"Now that I think about it, I think Ms Maximoff mentioned something about a Wanda while I was at their house."

"Really?"

"Yeah, this chick is chasing after her brother."

"But she doesn't know Stryker's moved bases?"

"No."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Get Peter out of the facility and send him back to the mansion. I'll deal with Wanda."

"Excuse me?!"

"What?"

"Are you expecting me, by myself, to infiltrate a highly secured, anti-mutant facility that experiments on us _mutants_?!"

"Yeah."

"Fuck no."

"Tabitha, you're the only one I know that can do this, come on."

"Fat chance LeBeau."

"Do if for Wanda."

"I hardly know the girl."

"I'll pay you."

Hazel eyes widened.

"How much?"

"I live in a mansion owned by a rich ass professor. Name your price, and it'll be handed to you on a silver platter, no questions asked."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm in."

Once the phone was down, the girl stood up, drank the rest of her liquor, and left the cash on the table. She flicked her blonde hair, and gathered all her belongings. The bartender watched her with slow and lazy eyes. Once out the door, he moved to take her payment. There was a piece of card hidden beneath the small wad of cash. 

_Tabitha Smith, Boom Boom  
\- Call this number for any odd jobs_

Across the other side, Remy breathed in deep, before he let out a heavy sigh as he put the phone down. There were discussions being made as Charles chattered endlessly in the tea room, trying his best to comfort Magda. He could see through the little crack that the professor was eyeing him. He stayed rooted on his spot for awhile, listening to the battle plans Hank was suggesting, as Aly slept on her mother's lap. One person was missing, and as he turned to his left he saw, there sat Nina, eyes out the window. Gravely, he walked over to her. She moved one chair up as he got closer, and he sent her a small smile, before he sat down. Silence was all they've ever known between them—and it was _not_ just because of the language barrier.

It took awhile for Magda to calm down. Hank was already scurrying out the room as Charles made to leave. The sound of strolling wheels caused Remy to bolt up from his seat. He walked hastily out the waiting room, missing Nina's outstretched hand for him to stay. Once out, he settled down on the staircase, and stayed to wait for the professor.

"Remy." Charles wheeled towards him, tentatively keeping an eye on Remy's blank expression. "I know you feel bad about what happened to Peter."

"Don't tell me it's not my fault because you and I both know _you_ and _they_ blame me for it."

"I don't blame you."

"Maybe you don't, but you know rightly it was all my fault."

"Maybe so."

At least he was honest.

"I'm trying, Prof. I'm trying to help."

"I know you are."

"Then let me go get Wanda."

"No Remy."

"But Prof—"

"You're staying here."

Charles' voice was stern, but there was a tone of gentleness laced within it, that somehow calmed Remy's heart.

"You're children. Things like these—next time, don't do anything wreckless on your own. _Tell us_."

"We did tell an adult though."

Charles smiled, grimly.

"Unfortunately, said adult is now in the hands of one of the most notorious anti-mutant possible."

With a pointed look, Charles wheeled away, his voice still reverberating in the back of Remy's head – even when he wasn't trying to get inside Remy's head, he still got inside Remy's head. Behind him came Anna Marie, solemn as ever. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, and he looked down at her, not an ounce of energy in his small smile.

"It's been days."

She whispered.

"I know."

He sighed.

"I wonder how Peter is."

"He'll be fine."

"They can't even get in contact with Magneto."

"Trust me, that's like a blessing in disguise."

Unbeknownst to both of them, a man had just been coming up the mansion gates, fedora hat on and a leather briefcase in hand.

Back in the facility, Stryker visited the control room, checking the progress of all other captive mutants. He was pacing back and forth when one monitor caught his eye.

"Carter, what's going on?"

He asked the female agent manning the visuals. She turned to where he was pointing and gasped. There showcased the rapid heartbeat before a flatline came up underneath the video of Peter in his isolation ward. He was unmoving, drooped down as if helpless and soulless.

"Sir!"

"The kid can't die just yet!"

Stryker screamed. He moved to make his way out the door, when the old man in a lab coat appeared before him.

"Let me handle this."

He spoke calmly, although it did not stop Stryker as he shoved past the man.

"I did, and now the kid's almost dead and we haven't even gotten everything out of him just yet."

"Trust me, I can bring him back to life, like what I did with the other girl!"

"Like hell you will!"

Stryker marched down the facility hallways. The man kept chasing after him, pleading.

"Sir, this is a mistake, let me take care of it!"

"No you will not."

At the end of the long hallway, Stryker input the code, before the doors slid open. He locked the old man out, and inspected the damage done to Peter. Carefully he eyed the inert body of the boy, and then growled. He stepped closer and began to unchain him. He only had one hand free when a punch met the side of his face, and he was sent flying across the room. There was a trail of blood as he looked up, led by the very much alive Peter himself.

"Sucker."

Peter muttered, before he kicked Stryker, and then ran off to kick him across the other side again. He was reminded of Apocalypse, that very battle in which his arrogance almost cost him his leg. With that in mind, he delivered one last punch before running out the door – he learned from his mistakes, after all. Finally out, he was met with guards, and as exhausted as he may had been, Peter's had enough. He ran as fast as he could with his blood loss and limping leg, knocking down tens to twenty guards in a row. He was about to exit too, when a shock ran across is body and the collar numbed his senses. He dropped down in pain as Lab Coat stalked towards him, that same old evil grin. He took one more step and reached for Peter.

But he didn't get him. An explosion came hurtling towards them, and Peter was blown away to the other side, while debris of cement and plastic glasses fell on the guards. Another explosion came, and this time it set ablaze the entire hallway. Peter would've been a goner if he hadn't had enough energy left in him—but he did. He was out the hall before fire could catch him. And the smoke wrapped the facility, sprinklers of water all forced on as guards and soldiers made their way to the hallway. Peter was quick to hide himself, and thanked god for whoever caused those explosives to go off. Hidden underneath one of the fallen walls, he turned to check the happenings around him, only to come face to face with wide brown eyes.

"AH!"

He screamed as the girl backed away, smirking.

"You're awfully scrawny."

"Who the hell are you?!"

Peter spluttered, hand over his heart as he backed further against the cement.

"Your savior, you ungrateful ass."

"What?"

"All you need to know is I was sent here, and I'm about to bust you out."

She took a step closer, and Peter stayed still. He didn't know whether it was because he was too exhausted to even attempt to run, or it was because of the girl's forward personality—heck, he even thought she scared him—or more importantly, maybe because something in her brown eyes told him to trust her. Which was a big mistake if he ever made one— _and he's made a lot_.

"I'll save you, but you're going to have to make this easy for me." With one step forward, and little time to react from Peter – which was weird because he was fast but then again he was so beat a turtle would've probably given him a run for his money then – she stuck a needled syringe to Peter's neck. "Sorry, but this'll make moving you easier."

Peter dropped to the floor unconscious, and the girl knelt down to inspect the damaged she caused. She clicked her tongue, before fingering the collar stuck to his neck. With a grunt, she created a pin sized ball of plasma, and placed it on the collar. It made a small flash that snapped the collar in half. Satisfied with her work, she nodded to herself, and shouldered Peter's arms. She dragged him away whilst the broken facility became more frantic as guards began walking up behind her. She hissed, before creating a bigger ball of plasma – one almost the size of a basketball – and throwing it behind her. Swiftly, she ran as fast as she could with Peter in her arms.

"Five, four, three, two, one." She reached a secluded area with a small pick up parked just behind the trees. " _Zero_."

And just as she got in, an explosion thundered across the whole forest. Trees swallowed by fire, concrete, glass and metal all shattered and broken, and men crying out for their lives. She threw Peter at the back of the pick-up and his eyes glazed open to the hell wrought by his savior. He smiled slightly, before being lulled to sleep with one thought in mind.

_Let hell swallow them all up, and burn this whole place down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay just one thing. I know Boom Boom's eyes are actually blue but with the actress I'm imagining her as, she's brown eyed okay. And if you can guess who I'm thinking of to play her role, let me know :) Lastly, lack of punctuation when Peter was speaking to Magda was intentional to show that he was talking fast. I hope this didn't move too fast, a lot quite happened, I got a bit lost in the description myself. Peter's method of escape shall be explained next chapter, but one word, FLASH. This may be my favorite chapter I've written just yet. I liked how I transitioned the scenes, you don't have to agree obviously.


	5. outrun my gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few words, Tabitha is only a come and go character okay, she won't be here for long so don't worry too much about it. Just know that for the few chapters she'll be an intergal part of the plot. Also, like said before, bolded words are in Polish.

Wanda Maximoff was livid. Make fun of her, sure—not that anyone ever did, with the blue eyes haunting like her father's and the beauty of her long hair in scarlet auburn—or even insult her, take her, use her, abuse her in any sort of way. You'd never hear a word of protest from her—just the sight of flooded bathrooms and blood splattered across white tiled walls. She was silent in her kill, so much different from her brother—she knew she carried the blood of the demon they called _Magneto_. And in her own little way, she took pride in that. But she hadn't so much as hurt a hair on anybody, not since a _long_ time ago— _until now_. Because anyone who dared touch her family—most especially _her brother_ —was dead to her.

Her body count was a secret, something only she would ever know about. It wasn't a big number— _eight_ to be exact. And it started when she was seven, an impressive child that grew more and more powerful. Her hexes started getting out of control, from broken toasters to window store displays accidentally shattering, and car crashes unexpectedly happening within a twenty-five mile radius of her. All of it sparked by her fear, her anger, a bundle of feelings she could never hope to show the world. And all of it had one source— _Peter_.

It was a school afternoon, sun beat down on the clear glass windows of their classroom. The people in D.C. weren't as forgiving about Peter's hair as they were back at that small town in Pennsylvania. So Peter tried harder than ever to get everyone's attention. The crazy pranks earned him a bad reputation with the teachers, and even though people laughed, it was just never enough. Most would snicker at his failed attempts to make friends, and the really mean ones would beat him up whenever they got the chance. Everyday Wanda walked home with a limping Peter, or one with scratches and a bruise or two. Their mom had gotten ridiculously frantic over her brother's state, and Wanda never really understood why it mattered so much until that particular day.

It was stifling in the classroom and Peter spent the night before planning another great prank – one which included Mr Sanderson and Mr Black stuck in a broom closet together. Due to over exhausting use of his powers – and the fact that lately, it was getting harder and harder for Peter to get a full hour of sleep – the boy collapsed in the classroom during lunch break. Most of the children were out, save for a few who had been eying the silver haired boy passed out on one of the chairs. They were three girls and a boy. And like the clever little children they thought they were, they came up with the grandest idea of all – to play a prank on Peter Maximoff, weird kid, annoying, and one unsuspecting soul. Silently, all four tiptoed their way over to where he sat, and dragged him as soundless as they possibly could, all the way to the classroom closet where nobody ever went— _because rumor had it that that's where they kept the bats that punished bad children_. They carried him off his chair, and dropped him in, locking the closet door. They snickered to themselves as they skipped out for lunch. Unlucky for them, one eye had witnessed all four crowing out as they left the classroom.

The teachers had been disappointed at Peter's sudden absence from their class—they all called him a _slack off_. Wanda didn't pay too much attention because Peter was known to run off and come back at the end of the day – usually, he was followed by some kind of mild—or _extreme_ —disaster but the point was that he always _always_ came back. When three o'clock struck and there was still no sign of her brother, Wanda had begun to worry. She mostly cared about what her mother would say if she came home without the annoying and loud presence of Peter, but there was also a slight concern for his well being somewhere in the back of her mind. After thirty minutes of waiting right outside their classroom, she entered in, and frantically searched for his belongings. All were still there – his play shoes, bag pack and lunch sack—which now that she looked closely at it, still had food in it, and if she knew anything about Peter at all it was that he always finished his lunch. _Always_.

This started her search all over the classroom. She looked behind the board, under chairs and tables, even in the cabinets – she swore Peter would fit in since he'd been getting skinnier ever since he learned slight control over his powers. It wasn't until she reached the last place she hadn't looked through did she nervously gulp to herself. She knew the rumors about bats and punishments weren't true—she was an A grade student with as much common sense and wit as she did with book smarts, like hell she was going to fall for such a child's tell tale—but even so, something about the closet gave her strange vibes – as if warning her. She braved all of that for the sake of her brother, and when she opened it, she found that what she saw was even worse than what she feared. There was a vibrating Peter, curled up in a tiny little ball, knuckles scratched and drenched in dried blood, in the inside most corner of the closet. By then she realized how small Peter—no, _Pietro_ —actually was.

Wanda went absolutely ballistic. She racked her brain for any sort of memory, a clue, hint or something—anything!—to let her know who was responsible for this. And then it clicked. Madison had said it over lunch.

_"Hey, do you know why Lauren, Emma, Kyle and Leslie stayed in the classroom even during lunch?"_

_"No, and I don't care."_

_"It's weird, they're usually the first ones at the line—except for your brother since he's always so fast."_

_"Yeah well, he's missing it today again."_

_"Where does he go when he leaves?"_

_"I don't know."_

The names burned in her head. And Wanda walked home holding a shaking Peter's hand all the way. Their mother almost had a heart attack at the sight of him, and Wanda didn't speak for days. It wasn't long before the local newspaper came out and the front page story headlined with _Four Children, Death by Car Crash_. It took Wanda three seconds to realize she had killed someone, and almost ten years for her to accept that she did. At the time she'd used her powers to hex a speeding car towards the four kids her age, she continuously denied herself the truth. The papers, normal people, her mother and even Peter would believe such luck. And the more she told herself it was all just an accident, the more she believed it as well. But then at fourteen she gave up and admitted it to herself, it was her doing after all—she did it for her brother. And as long as Peter was okay again, that was all that really mattered. Because if no one else was going to protect him—no father, and a distracted mother—she damn hell will.

There were four more to her tally, all involved people that had hurt Peter one way or another. At thirteen, sixteen and seventeen, she killed four more people. And at eighteen she found out about her connection to Magneto. She stopped. And hasn't tried since then. But at twenty-six, something's changed. Especially now that some scientist freaks were holding her brother captive, doing god knows what to him. Wanda may never want to be anything like her father turned out to be. But hell would freeze over before she let the people responsible for hurting Peter live to see tomorrow.

Like a force to be reckoned with, she tore through the facility doors, hinges ripped from their bolts, soldiers and guards flew everywhere. Red sparks spiraled through the air and guns dropped and slid towards her.

"Who are you?!"

One of the guards was foolish enough to dare call out. And she turned to him, eyes blazed cobalt, and a sly smirk curved up her lips.

**"I'm here for my brother."**

Her tongue clicked as she spoke, an expert in Polish, fluent unlike her brother who never bothered to learn, and her sister who stumbled through her words. If there was one thing her mother had gifted her with, it was the multilingual tongue that she used to usurp her position in many _men's_ bedrooms.

"What is she saying?"

**"Silence you imbecile."**

The guards who were left with guns all raised them up and pointed at her, ready to pull the trigger. But with a wave of her finger the guns backfired, snapping in their hands as the bullets exploded towards them. Nine men dead in just the three seconds she had entered. All others shook and cowered before her. She took a step forward, her heels kicked against the fallen guns. And she stopped to pick up one of the arms that laid before her.

**"I'm looking for a Stryker."**

"Stryker, she's saying the boss' name!"

"He's not here! He moved to a different facility! It's in Alkali Lake!"

"Idiot, don't tell her that!"

**"Then you're all useless?"**

"It's just us here, we were just finishing the move! We were just following orders."

 **"My brother is now at the mercy of men just following orders."** With a growl, Wanda pulled the charge, and aimed the gun at the middle men. **"Never again."**

Like a witch ready to cast her spell she smirked as she readied to shoot. The men caved in their panic and ran for her, but with a few gestures they all came sliding and tripping backwards. Wanda had enough.

"Let's see you fools outrun my gun, I know Peter can."

Five bullets fired, before she went for the next gun at her disposal. It didn't take long for her body count to rise up three digits, all victims to an unexpected avalanche that buried any sort of evidence that she'd ever been there. And all shame and blood that washed over her could not fight the red of her hair.

Across the other side of the spectrum, an old pick-up Chevy drove to a pit stop, a hundred miles past the Alkali Lake explosion late ten pm. Peter had been drifting in and out of a dreamland state in between the long drive from the florescent white and over arching branches of woodlands, through the roughed up Canadian highways and long ways that would lead them back to the greenery of Westchester. It was a scheduled long three day drive, and he and Tabitha had yet to slip past the Canadian border. So the best option had been to stop by the coziest village they could find, and lodge there for the rest of the night. However, it just so happened that the gas station sat right across a small bar with inviting wooden doors, and unblinking orange lights that beckoned them in with the smell of fresh and haughty food.

Tabitha got out first, a black bag in hand as she shook her car door open. Peter was rattled by the noise, and sat up fast, trying to find the source of his sudden wake up call.

"Get out of the car if you want food!"

She called, her small figure walked away from him.

"Whe—where are y—you going?"

Still sore in the throat, Peter's voice croaked out of him.

"This bar looks good, let's try it."

With no other protest left, Peter stood up and sped towards her. Together, they entered the bar and saw old men on their endless bottles of booze, checkers played at the corner, and heartbroken girls that drowned the bartender in their ever flowing moans of sorrow.

"Shit, this place looked better from the outside."

Tabitha made a face, her nose scrunched in disgust.

"Well, at least the food smells great, I think."

Peter spoke, and she glanced sideways and smiled, finally relieved that at least her ward could now _sort of_ crack a joke.

"Let's test drive this then, babe."

They made their way over to the bar as the man tending hurriedly left one of the weeping girls to welcome the newcomers.

"Welcome!" The man smiled, a little too cheerily for Tabitha's liking. "What can I get you two?"

"Menus would be great, yeah." She answered politely. "And water to start us off."

"I'll be right with you then!"

The man left. Peter sat uncomfortably on the wooden stool whilst Tabitha busied herself looking at her chipped pink nails. She clicked her tongue and hissed at the sight, slightly upset that the whole breakout journey had taken its toll on her twenty-dollar beauty session about three days ago.

"So, who sent you?"

Peter asked timidly, something new to him as he was always so unashamed in his speech—brash and fast, just the way he liked it. Tabitha took a short glance at him, before she flicked her gaze back on her nails.

"Would you believe me if I said I did it on my own?"

"No."

"Good, you're smart."

The man came back with two leaflet menus in brown. He placed the water right in front of them, and Peter could not have downed the whole thing fast enough. The sight made Tabitha wince a little, and she slid her glass over to him which he pleasantly accepted. After he drank the second glass, Peter placed it down with a soft thud, and turned back to her.

"So, who was it?"

She sighed.

"Remy sent me, I think."

"You think?"

"He might've been influenced by the professor—I don't know."

"I see." Peter turned to stare at his glass, the small drops of condensation from the cold cubes of ice at the bottom. "Thanks for coming."

"I know your sister." Tabitha carelessly mentioned, and his head snapped up to look back at her. "She's in my Literature class."

"Wanda?"

"Yup, that's her." She turned the leaflet, and scanned through the drink menu. "I didn't know she was one, but I've heard a lot about you as a person."

"What'd she say about me?"

"She says that you're lazy."

This caused Peter to scoff and roll his eyes.

"Figures."

"And lonely."

She knew it was tactless of her to say it, but Tabitha never did have a filter for her tongue – she's always been told that it was too sharp to do any sort of good. Peter seemed to quiet down as she spoke this, and the two were left to dwell in another moment of silence.

"Are you two ready?"

Saved by the bartender, the two looked up. She handed her leaflet up first, and ordered.

"I'll have a glass of gin, and I'll chase it with Coke. And just some chips."

Fascinated, Peter stared at the girl.

"You're going to drink?"

"Yeah, why not?"

He shook his head, and then turned to the man.

"I'll have the chicken burger, and I guess I'll have the drink she's having."

"With Coke?"

"Yep."

The man left, and Tabitha turned to Peter, eyebrow shot up as if in question.

"So _you're_ going to drink?"

"Yeah, just trying to see what the big deal is all about." He smirked, then looked down his hands. "Wouldn't want you to feel lonely drinking by yourself."

"I drink by myself all the time, for your information."

"Really, that's not something to be proud of."

"Shut up."

He smiled—a real one—and she laughed gently along with him. The man arrived with their drinks in hand, not a minute too late. He set both glasses in front, and two bottles of coke. He left before another word was spoken.

"So what's your story?" Peter casually asked as he took a sip from his bottle of coke. "You like to explode things?"

"And you run fast?"

"It's not just that."

He smirks.

"Well, for your information, it's not just like explosions and big bangs with me either."

"Then what else is there?"

"How'd you even get out of the holding cell?"

Peter contemplated on whether he should answer the question or not. There was no harm, he supposed, so he shrugged the indecision off and spoke.

"I sped up my heartbeat so that it'd look like it flatlined."

"What if they wanted you dead?"

"It was a risk I was willing to take, I guess." She nodded, and drank. "What about you, how do you make things explode?"

"I can create little balls of plasma, I call them time bombs."

Tabitha waved her hand for Peter to look down, and he did. She held her right index finger up under the table as a small orb formed, snapping sounds crackled through the various noises of that small bar.

"The smaller they are, the deadlier."

She sneakily flicked the tiny ball across the other side of the room, and it landed with a small splash into the drink of an old man howling as he won another game of poker. She held down her hand, and Peter glanced at her count of _five, four, three, two, one_ —and not a second later did the man grab his drink, only for it to splash his face in a gurgle of explosion. Tabitha snickered at the sight, and even Peter grinned with sly amusement.

"The plasma works best if compact into one orb."

"And you get to control when it explodes?"

"Yes."

"That's wicked."

She shrugged off the compliment, a proud smirk beaming. They both turned back to their drinks, another silence enveloped them. It was only for a few seconds—a few seconds _too long_ for Peter—before Tabitha decided to speak again.

"I used to use them to unlock stuff at banks, I robbed when I was a kid."

"You stole?"

Impressed, Peter took a sip off his glass.

"Yup, had some trouble at home so I did what I had to do."

"I used to steal stuff too."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"I got bored."

"Lame excuse."

"Well if time moved as slow as it does for me, to you, you'd understand exactly why I stole."

"I think I get it." She took her glass, and held it up as he looked down at her in question. "Let's toast to that, we have something in common."

"Cheers then."

Their glasses clinked, and Peter stood up with a quick excuse to the bathroom. Tabitha was left to finish her drink when the bar doors opened, and it revealed men in uniform—the same ones Stryker's soldiers wore. She almost choked on her drink as they casually walked in and inspected the bar. Just like she feared, they were followed in by a furious Stryker whose forehead had been wrapped as blood splotched on the right corner area of his temple. As the bartender moved to question them, Tabitha quickly shoved her hand in her pocket for her spare fifty, slammed it on the table and made a dash for the bathroom with her black bag in hand – too bad one of the men saw her and alerted the others. Stryker smugly grinned and marched towards her as she nimbly slid into the bathroom, slammed the door close and threw a time bomb at the lock to seal it. Surprised, Peter turned from his business to see her panicking in the male stalls.

"Dude!"

"We gotta get out of here _now_! Stryker is right outside."

"What?!"

"Get your pants on and speed us out of here!"

Peter didn't say anything else—he didn't need to. He just zipped up his pants—he realized he was still wearing the ugly white uniform they had forced on him and thought he really should change his clothes soon and _my god this isn't the time to think about that!_ —and grabbed the girl's hand. She let out another time bomb across the other wall, only to meet soldiers rounding them up with their plastic guns up as the concrete exploded into bits.

"Well shit."

Peter hissed, ready to make a run for it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr Maximoff." Stryker spoke as he finally got his men to break the door down open. "You have no idea what we have that could destroy you."

"Try me."

Peter's eyes darted quickly around them. He saw the people at the bar, feared eyes as they stared at him and Tabitha. He mentally cursed at them and slowly backed away, friendly faces now contorted into confusion, judgement, and most of all— _hatred_.

"Make one mistake, and see this tiny little button?" Stryker held up a device, with one single black button in the middle, standing out against the bright bathroom lights. "I press it, and your sister dies."

"What sister?"

"Nina."

Brown eyes widened, and Peter almost lost control. But Tabitha held onto his wrist, and he looked down at her stone cold face.

"We don't believe you."

She whispered harshly, and Stryker could only snicker.

"Well you better believe it—whoever you are." He took a step forward, and Peter bared his teeth. "I've long ago injected a cell destroying electrode inside Nina's body—something I should've done with you as well—just in case freaks got out of control. With one push I can activate them, release them all across her body, eating up red blood cells, and white blood cells. And you know what happens when you lose blood, don't you, Mr Maximoff."

"I can steal that thing faster than you can press it."

"Would you really take that risk?" There went that Cheshire grin of Stryker. "After all, your leg is still healing, am I not right?"

"Tsked."

Stryker knew, he hit him right on the spot and called Peter's bluff. The truth was, his leg had still been banged up from the last battle, and his shoulder wound was already reopening. Peter was trapped, and he only had one option left.

"I'll go with you."

"What?!" Tabitha screamed. "After everything I risked to save your ass?!"

"Just let the girl go."

He surrendered, and Stryker smiled, extremely pleased.

"Don't worry Mr Maximoff, I have no use for her _yet_. She can leave safely if she wants to."

"I'm not leaving without him!"

"Go!"

Peter yelled, hands furiously shaking as he eyed Stryker's hand on the button. Tabitha was about to protest, but he yelled even louder.

"I fucking said go!"

Tabitha breathed in her hesitation, and backed off. She slipped passed the soldiers. Not even two seconds later, Stryker already had Peter pinned down by his men, attached another collar to him as he struggled helplessly against them all. They held his head roughly against the tiled floor, his teeth bled out from the wild banging against it, and a boot stepped in front of him. He looked up.

"You didn't really think I was going to let that girl get away, did you?"

And with a slight pinch, his men injected something on Peter's neck that resulted in the boy falling asleep against his struggle. Once out of commission, Stryker turned to the men.

"Get that girl in before she calls for any type of help."

They all nodded and left for her, all according to plan. But what they didn't know was Peter had played them— _he played them so well_. He already knew that girl alone could take those men easily, and he long ago knew that the professor could not contact him because of whatever these idiots had been doing to him. But if there's one thing he was sure of was that that girl, could call for the professor, faster than they could ever dream to catch her. No super speed, but a thief knew a thief's tricks better than anyone else ever would. And how right he was at that.

Because a few hours prior back in Westchester, New York, a man in a sleek white suit and blue shirt, fedora hat tilted on top of his head, arrived by the grand gates of _Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters_. He carried with him a leather briefcase buckled in gold, and the gates opened to welcome him with wide arms. He briskly strolled in, a few minutes walk to the main door, before he knocked on the fancied mahogany.

"He's here."

Charles said from the tea room, and all eyes darted towards him. With a hand to the temple, he started a silent conversation with said man. Magda stood up, Aly nearly falling off her seat, as she moved closer to Charles.

"Erik?"

_"Mystique says you have business with me, used the code family emergency. This better be good Charles."_

"My friend, I assure you that this is of the utmost importance."

_"Then let me in."_

"Give me a minute."

Charles breathed out as he let go of his hand from his temple, and looked around the room. Magda seemed like she was just about ready to bolt, and Aly looked no better. Nina sat silent, clueless, at the corner of the room, with Hank just in front of her with a face that contorted one who was just about to throw up.

"Erik is here." Charles declared, eyes focused solely on Magda. "If you do not wish to see or even speak to him, I understand."

"I'm not ready to face the man that abandoned us."

 _But you were the one who left him_ echoed through Magda's head and she was unsure of whether it was her own voice or Charles'.

"Hank will take you down to the lab, there will be a car waiting to drive you off through our underground route, if you choose to leave. If you wish to stay and wait for Peter's arrival, then you may stay downstairs until we leave for the rescue. It won't be very long."

"I'll stay."

With a nod, Charles gestured for Hank to take the mother and daughter down. Aly followed, but Magda walked across the room, and Hank lifted a hand of protest. _Let her be_ Charles urged, and Magda came to a stop right in front of Nina.

**"You'll see your father soon, he's here."**

**"Papa?"**

**"Yes, your papa."**

**"What about you? What about the other boy—the silver haired one, he reminds me of papa."**

**"Do you know who he is?"**

**"No."** Nina looked down, solemn crinkled across her scrunched up nose. **"But he seems nice, I hope he's safe."**

**"Me too."**

With that said, Magda nodded, and turned to follow Hank. The brown haired man smiled tightly, as if he'd been choking for words— _which he was_. Charles breathed in, and rolled off towards the doors of the tea room, sending a mental note to Remy to keep Nina company. Less than minute later he finally reached the door, and braced himself for whatever it was to come. With one last nod of determination, he opened the big mahogany, and greeted.

"Hello, _old friend_."

"Hello to you too, _professor_."


	6. your past to my future

"It is nice to see you again, old friend."

Charles wheeled out of the doorway and allowed for Erik to come in. The other man stepped forward, shameless in his strut inside the famous X mansion.

"Save the formalities for later, Charles." He spoke briskly as he tipped off his hat and let his friend lead the way. "If whatever it is you wish to discuss is as important as you insist it is, then it must come first above all."

"Ever the impatient one." Charles chuckled, a wry smile on his wrinkled bottom lip. "But of course I would not call for anything less than what you would deem as important."

Erik understood that Charles knew him better than anyone else—and not just because he was a telepath. Long drives across the vast land of America—sometimes a stretch both the north and south borders—during their time recruiting earned days of countless conversations about the past, present, and future. Their ideologies clashed but they both intended the best for mutant kind—except Charles also wanted the best for the other side and Erik wasn't too keen on that respect. So it made sense for Charles to know just when to call and _not_ to call the enigmatic, catastrophic old friend of his.

Both men made their way to the tea room. Erik still wore on that hard frown, and his forehead scrunched in curiosity. Charles was nervous, ever knowing that just beneath the very floors they stood on was Hank's lab, a woman and her child—desperate for the return of a son and a brother, and nervous balls of anxiety as they await for _Magneto_ 's leave.

"There was an incident, just a little more than a week ago." Charles started as he wheeled into the tea room, Erik just right behind him. "One of our students had been taken and trapped in another mutant experimentation facility."

"Just _one_?"

Erik raised an eyebrow, as if to dare Charles to say anymore. The telepath just shook his head, and continued on.

"Yes, but an important one."

With a shrug, Erik sat down. Casual as he always was in approach to certain situations, he started preparing tea for himself, with the hot pot left and teabags all open for taking.

"Which one?"

The next word dropped like a wave of silence, one that resonated through Erik's entire body. He flashed back to the day of the fire—flames swallowed his entire past life, and a daughter he barely met—to the time that devil smirk met his lazy eyes through solid glass cages, and to the death of his family six months prior—before En Sabah Nur took over his heart.

_"Does it ever wake you up, in the middle of the night, the feeling that one day they'll come for you, and your children?"_

Erik snapped towards Charles whose eyes bore into him like solid blue crystals that questioned his very thoughts.

"Why should I care if this particular individual did not happen to return?"

Erik spoke with so much venom he didn't understand himself, as if a toxic denial clogged his throat. Although, he had no idea what it meant.

"You owe him Erik, he stole you away from the Pentagon and broke you out. Not to mention, _he_ saved _your_ life."

"Spare me the guilt trip Charles, there are other ways to pay my debts."

Erik huffed before he took a sip off his tea. Charles almost rolled his eyes, if not for the morbid situation.

"My friend, you have always said that mutants alike are a family—a _brotherhood_ , if you will."

Charles' words struck something in Erik, and the spoon he'd used to stir his tea bent and flew towards the window, creating a small ceramic crack. He exhaled hard, and then focused onto the sharp gaze of his telepathic friend.

_"I feel a great swell of pity for the poor soul who came into your school, looking for trouble."_

Erik stood up, ready to leave, an unsettling feeling boiled inside of him. He looked around the room, the expensive China he sipped from, the mahogany furniture and the cry of grey skies outside the clear glass windows.

"Erik, there's something else." Charles sounded desperate, and Erik—for whatever tolerance he had left within him—turned to face those crystal blues once again. "Peter admired you— _a lot_."

"Charles, I—"

"So much so that he left without a word, along with a whole mass of my students, to free _certain_ mutants captured by Stryker."

"Charles, you cannot pin the blame on me if the boy felt the very strong urge to help his mutant brothers." Erik growled, glare feral towards his friend as he took a step towards the tea room doors. "If he dies, he'll die a hero."

"I do not blame you my friend."

"Then what are you trying to say?!"

"If you would listen!"

"Then tell me!"

Charles almost stood—except, he couldn't. He bent forward instead, in the hope to look more intimidating. Erik almost laughed if not for the piercing gaze that most likely had been browsing through his mind.

"You're scared Erik—you're concerned." Charles gently spoke. "It is alright my friend, we are all scared for Peter."

"And why should I be scared for him?"

"Because you care. For whatever reason you do not know, your heart tugs for that boy. And I understand."

"Then tell me Charles, why do you suppose I care so much about that little pest?"

"You're indebted to him—he amused you. For the short time that he had been in your presence, he somehow managed to worm his way into your steely heart." Erik was silent, not a word out of his pursed lips—but Charles had more to say. "And now, you owe him even more."

"And why is that?"

"Because Peter left for Stryker specifically for one reason only." Charles took a deep breath, a mental calculation made of Remy and Nina's whereabouts, before he stared earnestly into the weary eyes of his old friend. " _You_."

" _Me_?"

That was all Erik could utter before the wooden doors of the tea room gently clicked open. Both men turned to look behind them, conversation left hanging to the air as Remy entered in. A scared little girl trailed behind him, and Erik gasped for air.

**"Papa?"**

**"Nina."**

The moments that followed after fell slowly—like tiny little dominos that toppled over each other in gentle motions. Nina spared not a second to run up to the wonder-stricken man, and hug him. She smiled, tears glazed her tightly closed eyes.

**"My little bird, you're alive?"**

**"Papa, you're here, finally!"** Nina pulled away to stare into Erik'a shining blues. **"They told me you would come, I was scared that it was all a lie, but I had faith. I believed in you Papa, I always have."**

Erik couldn't contain the crystal drops that spilled out of his ducts. He held tightly onto her, as if she could disappear any minute now—which in Erik's case, was never too unlikely—and brushed gentle kisses on her long brown hair. She was pale, thinner and her cheeks dipped in malnutrition, but she was still _his_ Nina—his ever loving _daughter_.

**"I can't believe you're here my little bird, I have been grieving your absence."**

Charles and Remy stepped back. They felt that it was appropriate, even just for a little while, to let the father and daughter have their moment. But Charles was counting down the ticks of the grandfather clock, and Remy eyed the little watch he wore. They knew that any minute— _second_ —spent and wasted was vital in terms of saving Perer. They had already lost way too much time—they could no longer afford to lose anymore.

Nina seemed to have remembered him—Peter. In the vice grip of her father's embrace, she remembered the warmth of the silver haired man. The one with the gentle and reassuring smile, and a cheeky gaze that reminded her of her father's playful nature. When he smiled and his cheeks sunk in tiny dimples, her heart got caught as the memories of her father and his scrunched up nose and head-thrown-back laugh filled her mind.

 **"Papa."** She whispered as she pried Erik's arms off her, and he stared with pleading blue eyes. **"We must save the man—the one with the pretty hair. It was silver—just like your locket."**

**"And why darling, do you feel such an attachment to that boy?"**

Erik asked, his voice tight and shaky. He already knew the answer—decided as soon as he saw Nina that he would save that boy. He just needed to hear it from his daughter himself.

 **"He saved me, protected me. He reminds me of you."** She reached for his dark copper hair, and brushed the little strays behind his ear. **"He had a smile like the sun, just like you. And he had kind eyes, just like mother."**

Erik nodded. He scooped Nina into his arms, stood up as she nuzzled onto his neck and gripped the collar of his white blazer.

**"I want him safe Papa, please save him."**

It had been a tiring and trying time, and Nina had barely slept all those days that lead up to this moment – she had been too excited to finally meet her father once again. It was the last Nina said before she fell into a deep slumber. Her snores echoed gently across the tea room, all three men touched by her innocence. Remy did not stay for long, already halfway out the door as soon as she fell unconscious, and left just as soon as she breathed out her fifth snore. Charles was left to watch Erik rock his daughter in such a loving manner.

"Erik." Charles called out, his voice a thin layer of velvet against the rough sounds of Erik's thumping heart. "Will you help us, my friend?"

Erik did not reply for a long while, and Charles almost gave up hope. He felt a slight waver in the air and he knew, right outside the door, a woman was eavesdropping with her broken heart.

"That boy." Erik finally cut through the silence, and Charles looked up with Magda's breath ringing desperately in his mind. "I will find that boy if it's the last thing on earth I'll do."

Charles heard it, Magda's deep sigh of relief. And he smiled as he felt the warmth of her heart, before she walked away from them. He knew that her denial for Erik's help had just been a defense—she was scared he'd reject her—reject _her_ son.

"Thank you."

Charles whispered on her behalf. And Erik turned to him, eyes set on determination.

"I'll find him Charles, and I'll make sure he's _alive_."

All doubts shattered with Erik's promise, and the next few hours was spent planning and outlining their course of action. There was still the question of Wanda that Charles dared not to speak about, sending mental notes to Hank of what they could do for the angered woman who was undoubtedly hellbent on retrieving her brother. They spent the rest of the day in Charles' study, blue prints scattered everywhere. From time to time Charles would leave for cerebro, and come back with more information to add. Nina slept on the decorated sofa, cushioned with floral patterns and a blanket draped over her tiny form. Remy was left to take care of her, whilst the three other men busied themselves for the upcoming war.

"We need someone fast to get in and out, and also serve as a distraction." Erik muttered, bent forward on the table where all their plans had been laid out. "Ironically enough, the one we need is the one that needs the saving."

"I'm not allowing any of my other students to be tangled up in this mess." Charles shook his head, and rolled forward as he inspected the other prints rolled up beside the big white sheet. "There must be some other way."

"We don't have any other resources, professor." Hank was quick to quip. "Raven might be able to do it, but she's currently off on a mission of her own— _and it's just as important as this_."

"What about the teleporter, the annoying blue one?"

"Absolutely not!" Charles protested as he rolled out of the table and made his way to the door. "Like I said, we are not bringing anymore of my students into this mess!"

"What choice do we have?!" Erik snapped, the metal chess pieces that peacefully sat atop the small side table levitated, before they were thrown across the room. "Are you still so naive to believe that this mess can be resolved peacefully?!"

Charles never looked back, eyes darkened as he looked towards the wooden carved door in front of him. His lips quivered, and his grip on the controller tightened.

"Do you want to save the boy or not?"

Hank stayed silent, glasses off as he looked between the two men. The chess pieces now swirled into a mini tornado, right above their battle plans.

"They're children."

"No, they were children." Erik calmly stated, soft steps toward his old friend. "What did Raven tell you Charles? They're not just students anymore, they're not even soldiers— _they're X Men_."

It was another few moments of silence, before the professor finally spoke.

"We take Kurt." Charles finally turned towards his friend, stern hesitance written across his flushed cheeks. "And _only_ Kurt."

"That's fine with me."

The chess pieces dropped onto the white sheet with little scribbles and drawings. The king sat atop a big square drawn on the center, his queen right beside him. The pawns all tipped and gathered before the royals, and all other pieces scattered themselves.

In a similar shaped building as the drawing, a man was held captive, dangling from the ceiling with both his arms chained up together. He was surrounded by glass casings, soldiers and scientist looked on towards him as if he was some sort of a circus monkey. Below him, just a few inches off the tip of his toes was a flashing white field of electricity. One wrong move could end him— _he knew that_.

"Collar not enough for you now, Billy boy?" Peter mused, an uneasy grin thrown towards the smirking man across the other side of the glass. "You can kill me now if you want to, I don't really care anymore."

"It's a pity you have such an awful mouth."

Lab Coat hissed beside Stryker, his hand hovering over a small handle. He pulled it down, and Peter was dropped down to the field, a strong jolt of electricity coursed through his entire body and his screams agonized even the simple soldiers that were forced to watch his shaking body. They all turned to look at Stryker, many with appraisal, and some with fear and disgust that lingered in their eyes—one even attempted to lower down the voltage, but he was shot before he could even make a move. They kept Peter down for ten whole minutes, before he was pulled up in a fit of seizures.

"I do enjoy watching you squirm."

Stryker pushed a button, and the chains that held Peter started burning up, until they turned fully red and Peter was darting around in his bindings, skin blistered and charred as the heat melted through his wrist. Stryker stopped it only three minutes later, and Peter was left a panting mess in front of the many watchers.

"Get the serum ready, we'll inject the new prototype now."

Stryker barked, and the soldiers all scrambled for the door to follow his orders. Lab Coat sat down beside Stryker, observing his fine work as blood dripped from Peter's wrist and trailed down the long white sleeves he wore. His feet were also numb and throbbing from the high voltage of electricity that coursed through them to his body, and his neck had red rashes and tiny little bumps and bruises. The sight was truly horrifying.

"Let's talk, Seth." Lab Coat spoke through the microphone – a nod to their previous conversation – and Peter slowly turned towards him, choking as he spat out blood that hissed as soon as they dropped to the floor. "You seem to be best at that."

"What do you want to know fucker?"

Lab Coat only chuckled, before he pulled the handle and Peter dropped down for eight seconds, electricity once again surged throughout his entire body, before he was pulled back up.

"Be nice, you're at our mercy now." Peter didn't reply, instead he turned away and closed his eyes, tears daring to spill out of them. "Now, I'm only going to ask this one more time, what is your connection to Magneto?"

"I don't know what you're talking about you ratty Lab Coat."

"The DNA samples and blood tests revealed that you are somehow connected to his daughter—same gene patterns. Of course even before that we already got an insight on your background and it seemed like your mother is also linked to the former terrorist."

"What's it to _you_?"

"Are you, perhaps, his son?"

"What the fuck does it matter if I am?"

"We just wanted complete understanding of the mutant X genes and how it affects future and previous generations." Lab Coat smiled innocently. "That's all."

"We're also looking for strong soldiers to fight for our cost." Stryker intervened, eyes focused down on the file of Peter Maximoff. "Your sister and you have incredibly strong genes—your abilities exceed by far many of those we encountered before. We're looking to recruit you."

"Like hell you are!"

Peter started struggling once again out of his bindings, shaking furiously as he tried to pull himself up. But Lab Coat dropped him down again, and with just three seconds exposure to the strong voltage, he had already quit and hung limp in front of them.

"Magneto seems like he would bear many strong offsprings."

"What are you gonna do you sick fuck?" Peter growled in between heavy breaths. "Capture and make him— _what_ —your breeding machine, donating sperm here and there just so you can have your filthy army?"

"Close. And definitely not a bad idea." Stryker smirked. "But we're going to be more sophisticated than that."

"We'll extract his genes and inject them into normal humans."

"Voluntary mutants who are willing to be the breeders for us."

"You're sick—you know that? You're fucking sick."

"No one ever tell you to respect your elders?"

Stryker smirked one last time before he stood up. He turned the knob off and the electric field dissipated, leaving only a white floor of metal wires running through them. He left the observation booth as two soldiers outside waited for him. As soon as he left, Lab Coat took over.

"You're going to be a good little soldier, just like all these men, okay?"

Peter looked at him straight in the eye, browns glowed dark like heavy swirls of whiskey that stared down your soul. Silver hair tainted with dried out crimson fell like shadows over Peter's forehead, and he smirked, wide and sharp.

"I will _never_ follow any of you."

"But you don't have a choice, my darling Pietro." Lab Coat responded with his own cat-like grin. "After today, you'll be nothing more than just another mindless puppet at our disposal."

The doors in Peter's holding cell opened, and Stryker stepped in with soldiers and cases of pink liquid. The men moved out as Peter shuddered at their mindless state. They obeyed Stryker's murmurs, and Lab Coat lowered Peter down as the men set up the equipment—syringes and the like, sharp needles and cleansing alcohol, and the pink liquid that oozed danger in Peter's eyes. For the first time in his life, _Pietro Django Maximoff_ was scared, clueless, and most of all— _hopeless_.

One of the men held him down as he struggled for his speed, but they finally put him in a room where his abilities had been neutralized, and all he could do was watch helpless as Stryker took the syringe, the glowing pink tip of the needle a blur against the flood of whitewash lights. Time moved slower than ever for Peter—and that literally said _a lot_ —as Stryker stepped towards him. He shut his eyes tight, wrinkled corners shimmered with dews of tears. He didn't want to forget so he tried to think back to the best memories he could hold onto.

Little scraps of the past like winning his first race in fourth grade, and the long days out the park playing catch with Wanda. The day Aly was born into the world – so innocent and fragile – Peter stared at her with young curious eyes, promising to always protect that light of hope in her smile. When his mother laid out a picnic blanket outside their backyard and Wanda ran to chase flying daisies whilst Aly choked on her baby laughter at the side. The thrill of stealing, and promises at the police station, his mom rolling her eyes as he explained the situation, and the first time he discovered he could rewire all the arcade games to suit his speed. In 1972 where he first discovered he could run across the waters, faster than any plane, boat or car in existence, and toured across the States stealing various prototypes of future technology—cassette players that would not be released ten years from then, a product in the name of Apple they'd said would take over the world someday, various types of headphones and many television models that never actually went on the market for their constant glitches. His favorite memory above all was the day he broke out of the pentagon, the man they called _Erik Magnus Lehnsherr AKA: Magneto, wanted criminal terrorist_ , and above all, known to his mother as _Max Eisenthardt—his father_.

And just before disaster could strike, before the needle could break open his skin, before the serum could completely takeover his mind—because no way were they ever going to takeover his heart—the lights went off in a loud screech of metal. Relief washed over him as Stryker set off in a panicked state, screaming about how _there is barely any metal within this facility!_. Glasses shattered and rained down on them, and Peter was hit with another wave of déjà vu. The lights flickered back on, and above him stared his father—no sly grin of mischief, only eyes that blazed with so much hatred and rage. He wanted to smile, nod and tell Erik that he was okay, and that a little scratch like this won't hurt him—but his voice had completely faltered at the sight of the horrified look on the professor's face just beside his father.

He looked around to the frozen soldiers, Stryker barely breathing as the wires that once electrified him choked the psychopathic anti-mutant. Everyone else was frozen, even lab coat, and he could only guess it was the professor's doing. Hank was at the corner, chipped plastic and glass surrounded him as electrical wires sparked across the side of the wall. It was the Beast himself that stopped whatever it was that had been neutralizing his powers—because he could feel it, the slowing down of time, his molecules beginning to speed up and his thoughts once again in a fast whirlwind of nonsense.

There was a poof and beside him appeared Kurt, sheepish and nervous. The blue boy tried his best not too look directly at Peter's state—the tired eyes, the blood soaked attire, the blistered wrist in red, and the chain that left scratch marks all across his arms.

"Hold onto me, I'll get the three of us out of here."

Kurt spoke gently, and Peter nodded in numb response. Hank walked over to them in all his big, blue, and hairy glory. Peter looked up the window to see if his father and the professor were still there, but they weren't. So he held onto Kurt's outstretched hand in fast breaths, as he teleported them out of the facility. Outside, Charles desperately followed a storming Erik through the facility halls. Small fibre wires were flung all over the place as the walls cracked with every step Erik took.

"Erik, what are you doing?!"

Erik turned to his old friend, eyes a dangerous cloud of blue, and Charles saw the fever that was building up inside him.

_"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers to?"_

Charles tried to freeze him, but with the lot of the people in the facility, it made it quite a difficult feat—he was already losing control of some of them. Erik took this chance to bring out his helmet.

"Don't do it Erik." Charles pleaded. "You will regret it, my friend."

"I've never regretted anything I've done in my life." Erik whispered hoarsely, the mental image of Peter's unforgiving state plastered on his mind. "And I never will."

"Nina will not be happy to know that her father is about to kill even more people!"

"What do you know Charles?!" Erik screamed, the wires ripped from the walls and charged towards Charles. "You saw what they did to him—to _that boy_! I don't even know him and I feel his agony, the pain, and I _loathe_ those men for what they did. He's your student Charles!"

The wires stopped midair, but Charles looked onward, unfazed. He knew Erik wouldn't dare harm him, but the threat still lingered in the air.

"My friend, Nina would not want to see her father like this."

Erik closed his eyes, and then turned around. He snapped his fingers, and the wires went flinging towards Charles once again, except it missed him by an inch and continued to fly behind him. The telepath looked back to see two soldiers wrapped in electrical wiring.

"Feel the pain you put that boy through."

And with screams of pleading desperation, they were flung into the half broken wall, tangled in copper wires that reacted to the sudden presence of the men. Charles watched in horror as the two soldiers were fried before him, calling out at him for help. But there was not much he could do. He turned back to Erik to see his old friend gone. With a curse he briskly rolled away.

That very same moment, a figure clad in red walked up the snowy mountain top, crimson sparks ran across her fingertips. She saw the boxed facility almost shredded into pieces by the abnormal magnetic field that circled the area. Her blue eyes squinted to see a tiny black jet perched on a nearby cave. It would take about twenty minutes to slide down there, but twenty minutes could mean enough time for her brother's destruction. She breathed in – if she could hex an avalanche strong enough to fling her across the slope, she might be able to land safely near the facility in just under five minutes. She gave her idea a nod, before she braced herself—except the sound of a sole against the padded snow snapped her out of her concentration. She turned left to see a familiar blonde.

"It's you."

The scarlet brunette spoke, hands up and ready to attack if needed be.

"Wanda, your brother's safe."

"And how do you know that?!"

"Charles told me, telepathically." The blonde spoke gently, and took a step forward towards Wanda. "You don't have to get involved, come with me and I'll bring you back to your mother. She's worried about you."

"I know who you are." Wanda remarked, her right hand fell to her side, the little red sparks fading into the frosty white air. "You're her, the blue mutant my brother is always raving about. The one who can take on anyone's faces— _Mystique_ , he called you."

"If you know who I am then you know you can trust me."

"No." Wanda shook her head and turned away. "You all may have got my brother—even my mom and sister—but you don't have me fooled. I know exactly who you all are, and hell be damned if I let the people responsible for my brother's suffering get away with it."

"Erik's down there, I'm sure he'll do it himself."

"You have way too much trust on that terrorist freak."

"He's not—"

"I suppose you would expect him to be the one doing all your killings anyway—once a murderer, always a murderer."

"Then doesn't it scare you that you have eight bodies to your name?"

"I—"

"Charles has faith in Erik, your brother has faith in you too, Wanda. If he knew what you're about to do, what you have done, then he won't be able to forgive himself for how you turned out."

"Don't you think I already know that?! Why the fuck do you think I don't tell him anything?!" Wanda screamed at her, and the snow began to crumble beneath them. "Like I said, once a murderer, always a murderer. And no matter how many times I wash these hands, nothing will erase all the blood that's been drawn out by my very powers. I can only accept my fate, and you all should too."

 _Accept Erik's fate_ was the unspoken message behind her words.

Wanda turned once again to ready her attack, but before she could make another move, and before Raven could even think to stop her, Wanda shook unexpectedly, before she numbly fell unconscious to soft white snow. Raven looked up in alarm, only to see another blonde in all black, holding a taser gun.

"Now who could say they were able to take down two Maximoffs—no wait, scratch that, two of Mangneto's children—down in just a span of two days?"

"Who are _you_?"

Raven cautiously stepped forward, and the girl dropped the gun to the snow, kicking it back as she raised her hands up.

"Look lady, I don't know what you're thinking but I'm a friend and unless you wanted to wrestle her out of the way—and trust me, you would've had to, and you _definitely_ would've lost—to get her back to the mansion, then you should just be thankful to me."

Raven looked skeptical for a moment, before she shifted to her blue form. The girl in front stepped forward and took Wanda by her arms and shouldered her on, just like she did to Peter just the day before.

"You're the girl, aren't you? The one Remy sent, and the one who contacted Charles— _Tabitha_ was it?

"Yup." The blonde answered absentmindedly as she started trudging down the other side of the snowy slope. "We have to get out of here soon because in about twenty seconds, that whole place is going to go down in flames."

"Is it your doing?"

"No." Tabitha looked back, a minxy little smirk curved up her lips. "But believe me, you already know whose it is."

Raven understood exactly what Tabitha meant, and as she looked outwards to the building that slowly crumpled in itself, she sighed deeply. Without a moment lost to her thoughts she turned around and followed Tabitha, spying at the corner of her eye the black jet hovering upwards. It meant that Peter was now safe and inside the cosy warmth of their jet, and Charles and everyone else were ready to head back to the mansion.

_"You can't stop him Charles, why do you even bother trying?"_

As she trudged down the snow, she saw the jet disappear out of sight amongst the misty frost, and five seconds into their leave, the facility exploded, men crying and screaming. Tabitha continued on as if she was used to all of it, and Raven, despite the fact that she should've been used to all of that herself—she couldn't help but cringe at the loud and explosive sounds of despair. She looked away, despair in her snake eyes, and disappointment cut through her heart.

_"I'm looking for hope."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the reasons why it took awhile to update from the last chapter is because I knew that this was the chapter where Nina and Erik finally got to meet and I know a lot of you had been waiting for this moment for such a long time and I didn't want to disappoint. Tbh I didn't know, and I still don't know, how Erik would actually react to finding his daughter alive. I thought, would he be angry bc of the experimentations done on her? Or would he simply just be happy she's finally there? Well I went for the, he'll be happy for now but just you wait he'll start to get angry little by little, route. Hopefully it worked, and if you caught the parallel between Nina and Magda then hooray for you!


	7. your heart is warm

Peter didn't get sick too often. He could literally count in one hand the few times he actually did fall prey into the slimy hands of a tough cold, a high fever, or some sort of a stomach virus. However, there was one stock occurrence in all the times he'd been bedridden.

Once when he was two—a couple of years before his powers manifested itself—he had a fever that lasted a few weeks. He didn't really remember much of it, he just knew that it happened – his mom freaked out over it and always reminded him about her struggles as a single parent. She had no idea why his temperature wouldn't go down, and doctors were out of the question because they couldn't afford it—plus, she was sure they'd all ask about the whole silver hair thing, and she just really did not want to get into all of that. She tried everything – home remedies passed down from generations of her family, hot herbal food and drinks, Wanda even tried to make him laugh with her chubby cheeks and red lips blowing raspberries onto his nose— _because you know what they say, laughter surely is the best medicine_. Peter didn't really get better until Magda finally set him down in bed, brushed away strays of silver hair away from his cheeks as he closed his eyes. She sang a tune that night, in a language Peter barely recognized. And it swept away all her worries, and Peter's fever.

_"Rest now my child, the day is over."_

In second grade, four of his classmates died. It was tragic and definitely unexpected. He heard it was a car crash – parents and teachers alike whispered so much about it, it was hard not to eavesdrop. Back then, he took a small glance at Wanda—she sat three rows up in front of him in the classroom, and her head bobbed in a daydream as everyone talked about the death of their classmates. He didn't blame her at all—it was just that _usually_ , around _her_ , things like car crashes and the like weren't as uncommon as they should be. He felt sick even at just the thought of his sister killing someone—or so he _thought_ he _just_ felt sick. That night he had another fever, coupled with a horrible cold. And he was absent from school for at least three days. Every night he laid there sniffling and snotting all over the place whilst his sister stayed as faraway from him as possible – he felt bad because he thought _maybe_ she didn't want to catch whatever germs he'd been carrying around with him – and his mom would come up with a hot drink and a song he vaguely remembered. She would tuck in strays of silver hair behind his ear, and tuck him in bed. The lights would go off and he'd still have that wonderful tune playing by his ear.

_"The sun will shine, when the morning comes."_

The third time he got sick was just right after he saw Erik's speech at D.C. with Aly on his lap, back when he was fifteen. He ran away from home with the very intention of never coming back—but first he'd have to deliver all the television and boxes of food he'd stolen locally, then all the things he'd stolen from the different states like the prototype of the new phone, a model watch, and what seemed to be a communicating radio device—when his head began to feel weird. Everything seemed to be all blurry even when he stopped running, and bile rose up his throat. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd eaten too much twinkies – he admitted he got hungry on his escapade—and _that_ for him was a valid excuse to eat some of the boxes he'd stolen, because his mom always had the money and he never bothered to ask her for any because he never needed it before – or ran too fast after such a heavy meal, or if the sight of the guy he broke out of prison now attempting to kill the president was what made his stomach churn. All he knew was that from everything he'd stolen, all that was left was the arcade machine—which was quickly replaced not even a year later with another one he'd steal again, _but that's for another time_ —and the Walkman that kept him sane in all the crazy messes of his life.

He came running back home three days later because he was still so small—even at fifteen—so unaware, and he desperately needed his mom. Locked up in the bathroom for most of the day, he threw up like there was no tomorrow. Wanda diagnosed a stomach virus. As he laid down on his bed—or the old beaten up basement couch he'd _bought_ in a garage sale, whatever you want to call it—late that night, his mom came down with her shaky hands, and then placed one of them on top of his burning forehead. He told her the truth.

"You know that guy on tv the one that nearly killed Nixon?"

"Peter, please, let's not talk about it."

Magda had pleaded as she put down a warm mug of tea on the makeshift table beside them.

"He was stuck in the pentagon." Peter whispered, and watched as his mom froze midway to pulling a blanket on him. "I was the one who broke him out."

"I see."

Her breath was ragged and husky, shaking like everything else in her body. She tried to reach and tuck the silver strands that fell over Peter's cheeks but as she moved her hand, something in the look on Peter's face stopped her—and she retracted. She stood up, gave Peter one last look as he continued to stare down in shame at his hands, before she shook her head and left for the stairs. Peter nearly cried out _mom_ —but he stopped himself. Because the guilt wrapped around his lungs, and came as a knot on his throat that made it hard to speak, or even breathe. So he sat there, head thrown back on the arm of the sofa, before he let the tears fall and lull him to sleep.

It was hours later, deep into midnight dawn when he heard soft padded steps coming down. His sleepy eyes blinked the darkness away as a gentle hand placed itself on top of his forehead. Once he adjusted to the light, he saw his sister's silhouette.

"Mmwaanda?" He breathed out, the pillow he hugged muffled his voice. "Mmwatr you doinn here?"

"Go back to sleep, silly."

Wanda smiled and bent down before him, the back of her hand still cool against Peter's forehead. He tried to grin but he was just so tired from the past three days of not sleeping, and his stupid stomach virus, that he couldn't even focus a small curve up his lips. So he let his teeth out in a small lopsided tug.

"I'm going away for a while, Pietro." Wanda whispered, and he knew it was something serious—she never called him by his real name unless it was really _really_ important. "But I'll be back for you, I promise you that."

"Mmwat bout mmom and Als?"

"Them too."

He nodded and closed his eyes as his sister lifted her hand from his forehead. She started caressing his hair, ruffling the tangled locks. She looked at his sleeping figure, and sang softly words she heard her mother sing before, tucking strands of silver hair behind his ear. Because she was always the one to pick up after her _incomplete_ parents—because her mom couldn't touch Peter, or any of them except for Aly right now, and God knows who her father is and where he's at.

_"But now, it is dark and the world is at peace. So let your eyes rest and sleep."_

That was the same tune Peter woke up to, fresh against soft foam pillows, and a bed swallowed up in thick blankets and a white comforter. He blinked away the bright rays of sunlight, and saw just a few feet away—his father with Nina on his lap, humming that familiar lullaby.

**"Papa, he's awake!"**

Nina exclaimed, a dainty finger pointed at Peter. Erik hummed out the last of the song as he closed the book he was reading—a compilation of some of Edgar Allen Poe's best works—and turned to look down at the silver haired boy— _man?_ —whose deep brown eyes dropped in a tired daze.

"Welcome back, Peter."

Erik tried to smile, as softly as he could, and Peter saw that. It was somewhat tight, but it was still a smile—right from his father nonetheless.

"Hey man."

Peter choked out as Nina ran to his bed and plopped herself down beside him. He let out a surprised gasp, and Erik sighed with uncomfortable eyes darting between him, and his daughter.

"She's been glued to you ever since you came back." Erik coughed out as he stood up from his chair, and walked slowly over to him. "She's very thankful."

"It's no problem man."

To say Peter was nervous would be a _big_ understatement. He was more than just nervous—his heart beat so fast, he was sure if a heart monitor like Stryker had was around, it'd be flatlined by just how fast his heart was beating. Because there stood his father, someone he wanted to hold close and desperately tell _hey, I'm your son and it'd be nice if I could get to know you, the real you and not the human or mutant whatever terrorist the whole media and yourself has painted of you, and also you have an awesome daughter who could work probability and probably help you win the lottery if you ever decide to give that a try instead of running around terrorizing human lives because I really want a sort of nice dad who saves the world and all that, not that I don't like you for who you are because I do_. He could feel his fifteen year old self coming back to life with the long breathless speech and mind racing a hundred miles per hour.

"I'm thankful too."

Erik smiled, this time a real genuine one that took Peter's breath away. This time it reached his eyes—those crystal blue eyes that reminded him so much of his twin sister, the way they told the story of how things would be okay and that if he needed anything, they'll always be there for him.

"No problem." He croaked, as he sat up, Nina playing with his calloused and bruised fingers. "Anything for a fellow mutant."

With a nod, Erik tried to leave, but Nina pulled at his wrist with her brown eyes calling to stay.

**"Must you leave, Papa?"**

**"Yes, both of us."**

**"But why?"**

**"The doctor said that once he's awake, we should tell him, and leave Peter alone."**

Erik stepped closer to his daughter, as Peter watched them with fascination. Her eyes watered in defiance, but Erik calmed her down with a gentle pat on top of her head.

**"We will come back for him, I promise."**

With a nod, Nina jumped off the bed, and gave Peter a small wave. He returned it with a wave of his own, and then a nod towards Erik who only blinked back at him. Once the father and daughter were gone, he laid back down with a deep and shaky sigh, palm over his eyes as he tried to calm down the flood of fast and ragged breaths that overfilled his lungs. It felt like forever before Hank came in.

"Peter." The brunette man called out, weary blue eyes stared down on Peter's tired form. "I need to ask you something."

Hank closed the door as he stepped forward, and Peter already knew what it was all going to be about. He saw the change of clothes, from the white uniform he'd been forced to wear by Stryker, to a black shirt and a pair of long jogging pants.

"Those scars on your back, where are they from?"

"From Stryker, obviously." Peter was quick to answer, eyes still covered. "Where else would I get them?"

"I know that you might have gone through some painful tortures with him—I can see that." Hank started, another step forward—as if he felt that Peter was a time bomb, just about ready to run away when he found the chance. "But you don't just have fresh wounds from a day or even a week ago. There are scars that have been there for quite a long time, ones that left a permanent mark."

"That's none of your business."

Peter barked, and it surprised them both. From what Hank knew of Peter, he was never one to just snap at people—and Peter knew that too. That's why he removed his hands from his eyes, and turned away to face the window right by his bedside.

"Peter, if things like what Stryker did to you this last week happened way before, you need to tell us—tell _someone_."

"It's nothing like that!"

More barking. And somehow, Hank got used to it fairly quickly.

"Then what is it?"

"It's just some dumb teenagers doing some dumb things."

"Teenagers?"

Peter turned to look at Hank, and then he sat up and sighed. The older man took this as a sign of compliance, and moved forward to sit at the bottom of Peter's bed.

"They were just classmates—and some older students too—and they didn't really like my hair. It was my fault for being too naive or something."

"What happened Peter?"

"They just asked me to join their gang of whatever." Peter tried to play it off casual and cool, but the quiver in his tone did nothing to help him. "And I went to see what it was all about since I never really had friends to begin with. So I thought, what the heck."

"And then?"

"Turns out they were all druggies and stuff, and they just wanted a play thing so they had me do some stuff. And they did some stuff to me."

Hank was stunned. He almost threw up as soon as he heard Peter's story—short as it was, it already gave so much away – he couldn't imagine what else Peter had tried to hide or sugarcoat.

"You don't have to worry, those bastards got what they deserved."

"What do you mean?"

"Two of them died." Peter whispered, and Hank brought a hand to hold onto Peter's wrist. "They both OD'd three days after."

"And the rest?"

"They killed themselves."

Hank held tighter onto Peter's wrist as he shook, tears forming in the tight corners of his bright doe eyes.

"It's okay Peter, you're safe now."  
Hank let out in a heavy breath, and Peter turned to smile pathetically at him. "We will never let anything like that happen to you, ever again— _I know Erik wouldn't_."

Peter's gaze snapped up to Hank as the older man smiled gently at him.

"How do you—"

"I've heard a lot from both Raven, and your mother."

"My mom?"

"Yes—she can't wait to see you awake."

"She's been visiting me?"

Peter sounded surprised, as if he didn't expect it. Hank could guess it had something to do with Erik being around.

"Yeah, when Charles is able to coax Erik into running some errands for him that require going into town or to the next city."

"What about Nina?"

"Are you kidding me?" Hank laughed, and stood up as he stepped forward to ruffle Peter's hair. "Erik wouldn't leave her out of his sight."

With a nod, Peter laid back down.

"There's a lot of people who are eager to see you alive and well."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." Hank nodded earnestly as he made his way to the door. "I'll give you some time to yourself, but for them, please get well soon."

With a soft click, Hank was finally gone, and Peter was left alone to himself, once again.  
He looked out to the bright sun beaming down on him, and all the greenery that surrounded that school in Westchester. He had that small peaceful moment to himself, before he heard the door click again, and he turned to see Nina, shyly walking towards him.

**"May I come in?"**

"Sorry bud, I can't understand you, but come in anyway."

Peter gestured with a hand for her to come forward, and she understood right away. She bolted for his bed, and jumped on it as he laughed lightly.

**"Thank you for bringing me back to my Papa."**

"Papa? Yeah, your papa's pretty cool. I like him a lot."

 **"I hope you're okay."** She spoke softly, small hands running gently across the small bruises on his hand. **"You're hurt, and I want to make you feel better."**

Peter saw this, and shook his head.

"Those bruises are from a long time ago." He tried to smile as he looked her in the eyes, deep browns that seemed to mirror his own. "So don't worry about me."

The next moment happened slowly, as Nina reached out for the silver strands of hair, and tucked them in behind his ear. She smiled at him whilst doing so, and he almost cried at the reassurance he offered her. Because he knew she knew nothing about this cruel world and now he finally understood why his father hated humans so much—but she didn't. And it was that innocence, that belief, that _hope_ —that made all the difference in the world.

"Your heart is warm."

He let it slip, that gentle admiration he had for her. And even though she did not understand a word of what he said, she still smiled like she did, and that's what hurt Peter the most.

Outside his door, across the other side of the mansion, Charles sat in his study as Erik paced back and forth in front of him.

"Why did he do that, Charles?"

"Whatever do you mean, my friend?"

Charles hummed out, eyes focused down on some papers that were delivered to him a few days ago by Moira, regarding the incident with Stryker. Erik stopped to glare at him.

"You know exactly what I mean." He exclaimed in exasperation. "Why did he let himself be a fodder for Stryker when he found out my daughter was alive?!"

"He's a nice boy." Charles placed the papers down on the desk with a sigh, and rolled out to make his way to the door, except—Erik held him in place before he could go any further. "That is all there is to it Erik, why is that so hard for you to accept?"

"Because people don't usually go around saving other people, most especially sacrificing themselves in the process, just because they admired you."

"The world is full of many wonderful people, Erik—and Peter's just one of them."

With that answer, Erik finally gave up, and let Charles go. The crippled man rolled out the door as Erik let himself collapse onto the long sofa of the study. He turned to talk to Nina, but found that she was nowhere in sight. Alarmed he briskly stood up, only for Charles to call to him and soothe his mind.

_"Relax my friend, she is with Peter."_

Erik let out the breath he was holding in, and turned to look at the door. With one last sigh, he closed his eyes and let sleep come over him.

The next day came with no troubles, and Erik was once again out on another errand run with Nina. This time, Peter was awake to see his mom and Aly come visit him.

"Hey baby." Magda cooed as she sat at the side of his bed, and ruffled his hair – people seemed to like doing that a lot lately. "How are you?"

"I'm good, just a little tired."

"A little?"

Aly raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned back at her. Magda rolled her eyes.

"Okay, _a lot_ tired actually."

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay."

Peter nodded, with nothing else to say to that. Instead he looked around the room, and then to the door, as if hoping to see someone else walk in.

"Wanda's not here." Magda commented, seeing the hopeful look on Peter's eyes drop. "They told us she was picked up by your blue friend—Mystique, was it?"

"Raven, her name's Raven."

"Well, Raven's back." Magda sighed, and looked down at the white comforter which stained red with some of Peter's arm wound reopening. "She said Wanda didn't want to come yet. Something about having some business left to attend."

"What do you think she's doing?"

"I don't know." With a deep breath Magda shook her head. "Probably out for revenge, if I didn't know any better."

"But you do."

"Yeah, sadly I do." She smiled and leaned forward, kissing the top of his head. "Get some rest sweetie, we'll be back soon."

"Yeah, Erik's already back the school now."

Aly commented, and gestured to the window that saw through the outside. There was Erik coming up towards the back door of the mansion, laughing with Nina on his shoulders. Peter saw the smile on Erik's eyes, and the difference in how he looked at _him_ , and how he looked at _her_. And that made his heart drop—all he saw after that was envy.

"You can tell him, you know." Magda whispered into his ear, seeing the haze in her son's gaze. "I know Erik—despite what has happened between us, and what happened after, he's a man with a big capacity to love. He'll be proud of you."

"You know, at the start I was scared of telling him because I didn't want him to just see me as a replacement." Peter started, slightly scoffing at himself. "I think that would've been worse than being rejected."

"And now?"

"I'm scared he doesn't need me anymore, because she's back."

"It's not about whether or not he needs you." Magda spoke softly, fingers brushed softly against his cheek. "What do _you_ want, Peter? What do you _need_?"

Peter didn't even need to say the answer for Magda to know exactly what her son was thinking. He wanted a father—that much was clear. From the day he raced home crying clueless because he had no idea what was going on with him and why his feet ran faster than he could even take in a breathe, to the day he walked home with ghastly purple bruises on his pale white knuckles, shaking as Wanda held his hand tighter than ever. From the first field trip to D.C. where Miss Levany tirelessly apologized for Peter accidentally getting lost, to the fresh scratches and wounds on his back the day she accidentally saw him look himself through the bathroom mirror with the door slightly open. From running away and then coming back days later, throwing up all over the place because he was so guilty and somehow in the short time he spent with his unknowing father, breaking him out of the pentagon, Peter had grown attached way too fast, to peeking around her room trying to look for clues of the man she now revealed as one half responsible for bringing Peter into the crazy cruel world. From the day he left to chase up an estranged Henryk Gorzky who then went by the name Magneto once again after yet another collapse in his try at a family, to the night he left to rescue his _supposedly dead but not really dead_ half-sister. All those times, Peter had longed for the strength only someone like Erik Lehnsherr could provide—because he was no longer _Max Eisendhardt_ or _Henryk Gorzky_ , instead he took up the name that was borne out of the numbers burned on his arm.

"Peter." Magda declared, as she placed a soft finger beneath Peter's chin, and tugged to have him look at her. "I've got to be honest with you."

"What is it mom?"

"Your father never left me." She breathed in, dark eyes that matched Peter's own rolled down to look at the drips of blood on his sheet. "I left him."

_"Peter, your father is someone who doesn't love often. But when he does, oh my god does he love—he loves with his whole entire being, with everything he's got, everything he is and he's not."_

Charles' voice rang inside Peter's head, and he looked up to see his mother's sad gaze. 

"I know mom—I've always known." Peter whispered, taking her hand into his own bruised and numb ones. "And it's okay mom, you did what you had to do back then."

With a nod, Magda wiped away the tears that began trailing down her cheeks. She blinked the rest away, and gave Peter her last kiss on the forehead before she ushered Aly out of the room. With one more look into her son's eyes, she waved and he smiled back before the door closed and he was once again left on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really messy I'm sorry about that, I just wanted one last quick update bc I won't be able to probably update for awhile. Also, the lullaby I'm sure is the one Erik sings to Nina in XMA at least that's what the internet tells me. As per usual, this had a lot of typos that I will fix when I find time for it.


	8. fuck that, get money

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've researched a bunch of AC stuff for this chapter but I don't think it sufficed so if there's any historical inaccuracies, pls forgive and just pretend they're right for the sake of the story bc let's face it, it's all fiction man. I'm still unsure of Peter's canon speed be it in comic or in film so I just came into a small uneducated conclusion on my own, so forgive that inaccuracy as well. Also, I hope y'all get all the references in this :)

"You've been moping all week." Tabitha sneered as she plopped herself down on Peter's bed. "You need to _get out_."

Peter had gotten himself into some sort of a routine ever since he found himself bed bound post the traumatic Stryker extravaganza – as Peter himself had dubbed it as. His days at the mansion would start whenever he woke up to that same tune of his father's lullaby – usually with a sleeping Nina on Erik's lap—and sometimes, she'd be awake just to greet him with an angel smile. Every so often, when Charles could easily convince Erik to run some unreasonable errand or two—and whenever his father _felt_ like it—he'd be accompanied by his mom and Aly, who would then tell him all about the things he'd missed, at home, and in their lives. Then his family would leave as soon they saw Erik come up the front gates with Nina. Sometimes Raven stopped by and dropped off his tray of "healthy snacks", and sometimes it'd be Hank and his never ending spiel of medical questions and facts—and never once did he forget to bother Peter about those damn scars on his back. Then Charles would stroll in with his daily visit, ready with a thick British _good afternoon Peter, how are you feeling today_ , and just stare at him as if he was supposed to say something— _he wasn't_. Peter swore Hank told the professor about the scars because _it's Hank_ , and also—why else would the professor continue to give him that weird skeptical look every time he was around anyway? Scott, Jean, Jubilee, Kurt and Ororo took turns visiting him—Mondays and Fridays were Scott's days, Kurt took over the weekend, Jean and Jubilee we're on Tuesday and Thursday duty, and Ororo came by on Wednesdays. Scott teased him about his silver hair and inability to move for awhile, and Peter teased him back about his red shades and Jean, and they'd banter until Raven's strict voice yelled over the top of their laughs, screeching about Peter's need for a proper rest and _you too Scott, you're still a kid_. Jean and Jubilee just gave him casual conversations which he'd half heartedly reply to. Ororo was an adventurous one and actually coaxed Peter out of his room for a walk every once in awhile—if he didn't, she'd make it rain on his bed and he really didn't have time for that. Remy came by late at night _every night_ , and Tabitha squeezed herself in whenever she could. At the odd times—once every two or three days, when all was quiet and people actually _left him alone_ —Erik would come, on his own, and just sit on the small couch in front of Peter, flicking through some weird magazine. They didn't really talk, but somehow—it made Peter more than happy.

But still, all those visitors couldn't make up for the gaping hole his twin sister left.

Even with Peter's enhanced healing abilities, it took about four weeks before Peter found himself willing to get out of bed—because even if the gashes, slashes and wounds were gone, the emotional trauma was still something he'd have to deal with. And not even once out of all that time he took healing did his sister come by to visit him – and a second to Peter was like an eternity, so _four weeks_ without Wanda was like _fifty years_ in total. He would ask Raven but—she'd just give him a sad sigh like she did the first time he gave that a try. That coupled with Erik's constant showing off of his _lovely_ relationship with his now alive family just gave Peter the exact recipe for depression he needed to glue himself onto his bed once again.

"Get up."

Tabitha took matters to her own hands and actually barged into Peter's room before Erik could even think of entering—and by Charles' calculation, he usually came by at exactly seven o'clock in the morning with an over excited Nina who would later, every so often, fall asleep.

"Why?"

Peter huffed, vibrating on his bed as Tabitha swatted his feet to stop.

"Because you've been cooped up here for a month and for some reason, you've been depressed all week!"

"I want to be depressed."

"Oh, you overbearing jerk." Tabitha went under the covers and tried to grab his feet, but Peter was fast— _obviously_ —and jumped out before she could get anywhere close to him. "Stay down!"

"No thanks."

"I thought you were sick."

"I am."

"Doesn't look like it."

Tabitha flipped him the finger as he grinned from his position against the wall. He ran for the door, but Tabitha saw it before he even thought it and had already melted the lock in place. Peter, still slightly weak, struggled as he tried to jiggle the door and penetrate his way out.

"You're going to stay inside and talk to me."

Tabitha sat down on Peter's bed and crossed her legs. Peter turned, slightly peeved, before he slid down on the floor and sat Indian style.

"What do you want?"

He deadpanned.

"What is wrong with you?" Tabitha began, her arms crossed, and eyebrows raised. "You've been so whiney and mopey all week, it's driving me insane!"

"You know you don't have to visit me." Peter said pointedly as he crossed his arms whilst he mocked her raised eyebrow with his own silver one. "Why are you even still here, don't you have classes to be at, or odd jobs to attend to?"

"I do attend classes." She smirked. "Your friend Kurt is very convenient."

"The professor would kill you if he found out."

"He already knows anyway so we don't bother trying to hide."

"And he lets you?!"

Peter nearly screamed.

"Not so much as he lets us as—we disappear right before he could freeze us." Tabitha snickered, giving Peter a small twinkling wink. "And he gives me the cold shoulder whenever I'm back but, _that_ I can live with."

Peter rolled his eyes because—of course that's what she'd do, it's _Tabitha Smith_ for goodness sakes. And all she did was continue to smile at him. Even so, he found nothing much left to reprimand so he jumped off the floor and walked to sit down beside her. She moved closer to him as he bent down and sighed out.

"Now tell me what's wrong." She coaxed gently. "I can't help if I don't know."

"Why do you want to help anyway?"

"Why do you keep asking questions after I ask you questions?"

"To deflect having to answer your questions?"

Tabitha took a nearby pillow and hit him on the face with it. Peter saw it coming but didn't even bother to move. Feathers flew everywhere, and Peter coughed out his distaste.

"Answer me, you jerk."

With a sigh, Peter shook his head and waved away all the feathers. A soft and small white tornado formed and threw itself against the door, exploding in a small flurry on the floor, across the other side of the room.

"I have daddy issues, is what I have."

"Ugh, so do I." Tabitha hit him again – this time on the arm – as the remaining feather fluff gently fell out of the case. "What else?"

"My twin sister hasn't visited me."

"She's off to destroy people that hurt you, I think that can be forgiven."

"That's the point!" Peter snapped, clearly frustrated as he stood up and started pacing around the room. "She shouldn't be doing that! I know I'm pissed at the guys who did all those stuff to me, but they don't deserve to die!"

"Why are you being so anal about it anyway? She's killed, so have I—do you feel good _judging us_?"

"It's not that."

"Then _what is it_?" Tabitha challenged with a deep sigh. "Are you scared that she'd turn out _just_ like your father?"

"No, I—"

"Or are you scared that it's just sole proof that _this_ is all your family has to offer?" She stood up and took a step closer to Peter as he stood his ground and glared down at her small blonde frame. "A tally of dead bodies, tragedies to your names, and nothing good left to make up for all your _sins_."

"You're wrong."

"I'm right. That's what scares you the most." She took another step forward, and this time with enough _truth_ and force, Peter actually stepped back. "The fact that your father can do all that, and your sister can do all that, and _you_ have the potential to do all that."

"I'm not ashamed of my family, or what they can do." Peter growled, his teeth bared. "If anything, I'm proud of them."

"Then why are you shaking?" She grabbed his arm before he could even turn away, and looked up softly into scared brown eyes. "It's okay Peter, you're not your father or your sister."

He shook his head vigorously, and tried to shake off her grasp. But he knew he needed— _wanted_ —to stay. Because he could've made her let him go—but he didn't.

"All they are, they're people who have so much love in them. And sometimes, that love can turn people into something ugly." She took one more step forward, and made to brush the strands of silver hair on the side of his face. "But I promise you that's not you."

"And what makes you so sure?"

His voice wavered, eyes wide as she tucked his silver strands behind his ear.

"Because I've seen people like that." They were now nose to nose, and she tiptoed to whisper sincerely into his lonesome, puppy eyes. "And you're nothing like them."

She let him go and casually strolled back to the bed. Peter felt winded as he accidentally slammed into the wall behind him, unsure of exactly when he got there. Tabitha sat down the bed and crossed her legs once again.

"What else do you have to say?"

With a deep breath, Peter struggled to get off the wall.

"I can't tell my dad I'm his son."

"And why not?"

"Because he has a daughter?"

"So?" She rolled her eyes. "Lots of people have daughters, and they don't mind having sons right after—or before, whatever."

"This is different."

"How so?"

"She's the real family." He whispered. "I'm just the would-be replacement, she's the one he really wanted."

"Peter—"

"No matter what people say about how Erik would just be glad he has other blood family left, or that I'm as much his son as Nina is his daughter, or how he would've stayed had he known about us, or that he'd be proud just to even know I was related to him—it doesn't matter." Peter started, heavy steps towards the bed, before he bent down to glare at Tabitha's wide brown eyes. "Nothing will stop me from feeling shit about being the guy who he would've had to settle for if she was dead after all, and nothing will stop me fearing the _possibility_ that I might not be the son he wants! Or that he'd never accept me because I'm no longer needed!"

"Peter, that's not true."

He didn't listen—he didn't want to.

"I'm deadbeat and have nothing to offer, I'm pushing thirty and I still don't know what I want to do with my life, I'm even afraid of turning out like him—what kind of son is that anyway?" Peter's voice grew more and more desperate with every word he spoke, and he hardly breathed throughout his tirade. "But despite all that I still want _him_! I don't want any other person to be my father, I wouldn't change the fact that he did all the things he did because he was hurting and I _understand_! And I want nothing more than for him to know that!"

It was a moment of grievance, and Peter dropped to the floor just beside his bed. Tabitha inhaled in her sigh, and slid off the bed to the floor with Peter. They did not speak for a very long while. Peter fought the sting of tears that gathered like acid around the rims of his eyes, and Tabitha held onto his shaking wrist. Somewhere between his breakdown and her trying to understand, something clicked within her, and she eventually spoke with a cheshire grin. Her brown eyes blinked away all empathy and innocence they once portrayed— _if they ever did to begin with_.

" _Fuck that_ , get money." She breathlessly suggested. "And get _lots_ of it."

"What?"

He turned to her, clueless and once again bewildered, but she just continued to grin at him before she pulled the wrist she was holding, and ran for the door.

"How fast can you get to Jersey?"

She spoke as they ran off—painfully slow in Peter's opinion—towards the dorm rooms. She knocked on the once she recognized. Scott and Jean came out of the left most corner room—and Peter was sure they were doing something improper because they were panting like crazy, and it was obviously just Scott's room both of them had been in—and from the center right, Kurt poofed in a swirl of black and blue smoke.

"What are you talking about?"

Peter cried out as he watched the chaos unfold before him.

"What's going on?" A disgruntled Scott huffed out as he tried to casually fix his hair. "We were busy!"

"Yes." Kurt cheerfully quipped. "Doing ze floating sixty-nine, as Peter called it."

Scott's head snapped towards Kurt and his eyes glared viscously at the blue fellow, whilst Jean turned her attention to Peter who whistled out innocence quite loudly at the very corner.

"What is with all the knocking?"

Jean screeched as Tabitha took initiative and stood in front of all the confused teenagers – minus Peter who might as well have passed for one with his giddy and childish behavior – with her mighty stomp and cheshire grin that everyone knew spelled nothing but trouble.

"You're all here because we need to do something for our fellow mutant." Tabitha gestured a hand towards Peter who just gave everyone, as they turned to him, a skeptical shake of the head. "He's been depressed because of his _daddy_ and _sister_ issues."

"Okay?" Scott offered as Peter sighed to himself, clearly just as clueless as everyone else with the whole situation. "So, what's the plan?"

"Here's the deal." Tabitha started. "Peter's going to run me to Atlantic City, the three of you will follow suit with however far Kurt's teleportation can take you."

"What?!" Peter screeched. "I didn't agree to any of this."

"Of course you didn't because if you did then there'd be no fun in that."

"Please, I don't need to hear another person say anything about having no fun."

"Besides, Atlantic City is fun, there's lots of cool games and the like."

"And you expect me and Kurt to carry all of you?"

Tabitha nodded.

"And you have no disregard for the fact that I'm still semi-injured?"

Another nod.

"And you don't even care if these guys don't want to go?"

"Nope."

They started a stare down, and everyone else in the room just stood back and watched. Finally, Peter broke away and positioned himself right next to her, palm on the back of her head and ready for take off.

"Fine, you win." He said too quickly, almost like his fifteen year old self talking to his father about whiplash, and she smirked back at him. "But we play whatever I want, deal?"

"Of course."

"And we don't get any say in this?" Scott pointed out, arms folded with Jean nodding beside him. "What if we refuse to go?"

"Too bad." Tabitha hissed before she nodded her head in an obvious gesture. "Kurt."

With a salute, Kurt poofed in between Scott and Jean, grabbing hold of their arms before he poofed again to God knows where, only the protesting screams of _this is treachery, anarchy I tell you, anarchy_ of Scott heard above Kurt's loud _whoosh_.

"You had this all planned right from the start?" Peter asked, although he didn't really need to as the bat of Tabitha's eyelids spoke for itself. "Thought so."

"You are talking to the person that broke you out of Stryker's prison, and contacted the professor without being found, right?" She snickered, prepping herself with a black sling bag. "Let's go, fast boy."

"Just warning you, on a good day, I could probably get you to AC in about under four or so minutes. Maybe even less."

"But since you're recovering?"

"I'd reckon about eight to ten."

"I'm okay with that, as long as you get there before Kurt."

"I don't know man, Little Blue did have a head start."

Tabitha's infectious laugh was all that was heard before Peter took off with her head thrown back and dirty blonde hair flying through high speed air.

Peter's guess had been right, and it took them approximately nine and a half minutes to reach their destination. Once there they saw Kurt already jumping up and down the boardwalk, as Tabitha recovered from nausea.

"You could've gone with Kurt, but you insisted I take you." Peter gleefully declared as he watched the blonde throw up at a nearby trashcan, just beside the back entrance of the casino. "Would've saved you a lot of trouble, if I had to be honest."

"If I went with them, there was no guarantee you'd ever follow us." Tabitha hissed, head down as more bile came up her throat and out her mouth. "You're a _darling_ , you know that?"

"I know." It was Peter's turn to smirk. "And you, my love, are an _angel_."

The two continued to bicker, even as Tabitha pulled herself off the trashcan and made their way towards the rest of the group. Kurt had been chasing Scott near the entrance doors, and Jean had already calmly sat herself inside the casino.

"These three kids are underage, you know."

Peter whispered to Tabitha who only rolled her eyes.

"I've got it covered."

She whispered back, a subtle wink sent towards Jean who only nodded stiffly in response. Once everything was settled, everyone separated into different parts of the casino. Jean and Scott had taken a liking on the roulette table, getting excessively competitive with each other as they bet money against the other, throats sore from all the screaming. Kurt had himself amongst the Jackpot machines, fascinated by the coins that constantly fell beneath the counters as he pressed the buttons. Peter headed for the bar, no questions asked as he sat and asked for a shot of strong Daniels and some ice. Tabitha followed him

"We're here to have fun—you know—not drink the day away."

She wryly commented as she sat down beside him, a gesture to the bartender for her own drink.

"I'm here aren't I?" He asked before he took a shot off his glass. "The condition was we'd go and I could do whatever I wanted when we got here."

"If I remember correctly, you did say _play_."

"I'm playing right now."

"And what game would that be?"

"Drinking contest."

Peter chugged down the rest of his glass, before he waved to the bartender for another one. This time, he even ordered a side of beer, and Tabitha took him up on the vague offer, taking a shot off her own glass of Jack, and then called for a full bottle of beer.

"Okay, we'll do that then."

The lights glowed bright gold and toxic flashes of strobes, but the alcohol looked psychedelic in all its pink and blue glory. Sometimes they were whiskey and coffee, but the most alluring of them all colored neon against the screams of drunks and gamblers that rolled dices, dealers that shuffled cards and machines that dropped coins. It took blurry hours before Peter actually felt himself drowning in the high effects of the alcohol, and by then, Tabitha had already left him for a smoke off her cancer sticks.

In his eyes that danced across the hysteria of the casino and his glass half empty of dropped whiskey Jack, the night blurred into a haze of tears and loud laughter and all he really remembered after that was pain.

Hours later, after Peter had left on his long—well, rather short if it was anything to do with Peter—journey to Atlantic City, Erik had strolled in to the speedster's room for his daily visit, this time without Nina in tow. He had been a few—okay, a long few—hours late, all thanks to Nina finally adjusting into the school and asking him to train her. But Peter somehow ended up as one of Erik's top priorities, and no matter how late or what the time, he still found himself visiting at least once a day.

He opened the door, book tucked gently under his arm, surprised to see an empty bed to greet him. His heart almost dropped as endless possibilities ran through his head and he had no idea where all of them came from. They were images, flashes of Stryker coming back from the dead and taking Peter away, to Peter once again finding another family member of Erik's he'd gladly sacrifice his life for, or a slight miscalculation due to his injury that lead to utter chaos in another one of Peter's lone wolf escapades. Erik didn't even dare to venture what would happen if En Sabah Nur came back—because he was sure if he did, Erik would voluntarily castrate that wannabe God himself.

_"Charles."_

He growled as he turned around and pulled the door close with a wave of his hand.

_"Rather loud thoughts for so late in the afternoon, my friend."_

Charles teased, a slight yawn in his voice as Erik heard shuffling right above him. He could tell he'd just woken Charles up from his nap—but right then he could care less.

_"Your student has gone missing, again."_

Erik didn't know when he became such a mothering hen to the silver haired boy, he just knew that he saw Peter as a small little creature that needed to be protected at all cost. He didn't know when it started—probably when he saved Nina?—or how it happened, but Erik found himself constantly wondering about the silver haired twenty-something years old that whirled into his life ten years ago. He thought of a little boy, about the age of four, running lost and knocking over chess pieces, little silver strands peeking through an unfashionable red cap. He thought of what elementary days were like with an odd hair, and the ability to run faster than anyone else in the class—did he join races, play sports, or had he been barred from such luxury at such a young age? He thought of middle school and the age of rebellion, a little kleptomaniac who garnered the name—because they had no one else to blame for all the missing erasers and notebooks and love letters, but the weird kid who was only slightly different. And then he thought of high school—did the kid even make it as far as that, or did he give up halfway because kids were bullies and even though he had been sure and stronger, his moral compass stood north amongst the teasing and heavy tirades that targeted his kind? Then he thought of Stryker, and what Stryker did—and suddenly Erik's heart pounded against his chest, deafening his ears as they screamed for the boy's safety.

_"Which one?"_

Charles' voice broke through the heavy thoughts that dared break all magnetic and metallic items within the whole mansion.

"Who else?" Erik growled, running up the stairs as the rolling sounds began to come closer. "Peter."

Erik stopped right in front of Charles' bedroom, and the door opened to reveal a haphazardly dressed Charles, struggling with his chair as he tried to calm erratic breaths that slipped passed his curved lips.

"Oh no." It was all that Charles said before he wheeled Erik out of the way and began to roll towards the direction of cerebro. "Erik, you need to get Hank."

"Like hell we have enough time for that!"

"Erik!" Charles screamed as Erik walked fast past Charles towards the elevator. "Erik, we cannot just do whatever we want! We don't even know if Peter is in any real danger!"

This stopped Erik as he opened the doors to the elevator. He turned back, eyes a furious shade of blue as he glared onto his chair-bound friend.

"We don't know if he's in any _real danger_?" Erik practically screamed as the metal doors of the elevator crumpled under his rage. "What is _real_ danger to _you_ Charles? The kid is injured, no matter where he goes he _is_ in danger."

"Yes, I understand your concern—"

"Do you really Charles?" Erik growled even more, the elevator doors screeched as Erik held them in place. "If you do then you know the urgency of this situation. You care about your students Charles, then hurry yourself up or you could lose another gifted youngster quicker than you could even think of who that could be."

With no more time to waste, Erik restored the elevator doors and entered in. Charles solemnly followed after him, and the ride down was fast—courtesy of Erik—and silent. As they arrived, the doors opened to reveal Remy and his staff, just back from another solo mission.

"Yo." He casually greeted as Erik tried to move past him. "You looking for Peter?"

Erik's head snapped and he grabbed Remy's collar—which, in all honesty, was very expected of Erik from Remy's point of view—and pushed him against the closed elevator doors, completely ignoring Charles' sudden call of _Erik_ as he froze him in place.

"Feisty Magneto, caring about someone else besides himself and Nina." Remy sneered and Charles glared at him to keep quiet. "What's bothering you man?"

"Where is the boy?"

"Calm down." Remy crossed his wrists and jerked off Erik's hold as the older man stepped back, eyes feral and wild. "He's in AC, the Resorts hotel."

"What?"

"Boom, Crawler, Cyclops and Gray all took him for a day out since he'd been nothing but mopey for the entire week, so they're all gambling the Prof's money just to cheer the depresso up."

Erik turned to Charles as if desperately asking him to translate what Remy had said. Charles just shook his head whilst the teenager snickered.

"He's in Atlantic City Erik, with Tabitha, Kurt, Scott and Jean."

Erik visibly relaxed. He turned to look at Charles, a calm but stern look on the crinkle of his forehead and the glare of his blue eyes.

"We're going after them."

"Excuse me?"

Charles raised an eyebrow, his face contorted a look of both confusion and amusement, with a slight hint of sarcasm.

"We're going to follow those kids."

"And why on earth would we do that, Erik?"

"Clearly, your child Peter isn't fully healed yet and therefore we must first ensure he is okay and that nothing has happened to him, and then reprimand the rest for this whole crazy stunt. Then we take them _all_ home."

" _My_ child?" Charles snickered. "He is but twenty-six Erik, he is hardly a child."

"Clearly only a child would be so foolish to leave home still injured."

"Goodness Erik—"

"Charles, get the plane ready or I will."

His word was final, an edge Charles had not quite heard of before. And that took all the playfulness out of him. He nodded to Remy with subtle blue eyes.

They boarded—Hank the hurried pilot who had been telepathically contacted, Charles and his skepticism, and an ever silent Erik who sat and stared at his half empty glass of rum. Remy came along for the ride, amused eyes flickered amongst the passengers, and the pilot who dared not speak. Awkward was a huge understatement. The flight was quick—but the longest Charles had ever felt, and he wondered if this had been Peter's whole life. Remy got fidgety near the very end, so he tried to catch a nap, whilst Charles slowly but surely rolled towards Erik, a convenient chess set in hand.

"A game, my friend?"

He asked dryly, as Erik stared at him, unamused.

"We'll be there in a few minutes."

"I believe so."

Shortly was correct as they landed right by the boardwalk, Hank's handy work allowed for the plane to camouflage amongst the dark blues of the sea and sky. Erik hurriedly pushed past Charles, the set falling to the floor and the pieces scattered. The King and Knight rolled right next to each other, before Charles wheeled in between the two. Hank and Remy scrambled out, Erik way ahead of them with the lights glittered across the coming evening, yellows glossed on waters, and the Resort Hotel burned bright like the tempting call of gold.

Erik wasted no time entering the casino full of people who ambled across the carpeted floors drunk on gambling. His sharp eyes scanned the entire area, coming across a crazed Kurt who danced across roulette tables with his tail that wagged joyously amongst the falling chips. He found Jean and Scott making out beneath the dice tables, subtly but surely removing each other's clothing articles. But Erik was not interested in that – there was only one person he cared enough to look for and that was a silver haired boy—man?—that somehow unknowingly made Erik feel more than he should.

He turned to the balcony and caught eye of blonde hair with black furry ears, the same headband he knew a particular mischievous bombshell was known to wear. He powered through the crowd of people, coins clanged and shook—and he didn't know whether it was because of his powers that slipped under his control, or the people that rattled with their earnings for the day. Charles, Hank and Remy were right behind him, struggling to catch up. He finally got there, hand tight in a fist as he saw Tabitha struggle to keep still a drunk Peter who—for the life of Erik Lehnsherr—he could not tell if the boy was crying or laughing or both. He cleared his throat and Tabitha snapped towards him, accidentally letting go of Peter as he stumbled away into the corner and then crashed into a basket of coins, howling in uncontrollable laughter.

"What happened to him?"

Erik snapped and Tabitha winced.

"He's a little drunk."

"You don't say."

"I am so sorry about this."

Tabitha apologized. She bowed and Erik raised an eyebrow, before she shot off in a somersault and jumped down the balcony, a wink to the confused father and puking son as she scaled the walls down. Charles, Hank and Remy came, but Erik slammed the balcony doors close before they could enter in. With just him and Peter left behind, he stared at the boy amble around as he tried—and failed—to stand himself up.

"I heard you've been depressed." Erik started, a good distance away from the twenty something. "Look at yourself, you're a mess."

"Shlrut uuupp."

"You can't even speak properly."

Peter's head snapped up, his gaze sharpened at the sight of Erik.

"You're not my father." Peter hissed and Erik just stared down at him, as if he'd stated the obvious. "You weren't there when I was born or when my powers came up or when people treated me like shit at school."

"Look Peter." Erik tried, calmly. "Whatever issues you have with your father, it is none of my concern. _You_ are not my responsibility, but I do feel an extent of concern for you."

"Shut the fuck up you morbid asshole."

"Peter."

"Where the fuck were you when I needed you, huh?!" Peter yelled so suddenly, Erik actually took a step back, his eyes wide. "When _we_ needed you?!"

"Peter, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Where were you when Wanda killed all those people?! Those classmates of mine who'd only been seven years old, huh?!" Peter took a step forward, and Erik readied himself for any sudden attack. "Where were you when I was locked in a closet, when I was getting beat up at the back alley, or burned with cigarettes on the back my neck?!"

"Who did that to you?!"

"That's right— _you_ were never there." Peter scoffed, and turned around, drunk steps towards the balcony floor. "You weren't there when _my_ mom had to take care of two mutants because the damn sperm donor up and left without ever looking back, because he moved on and got himself a different family—a better one—and because revenge was better than a silver haired son and a witch daughter!"

"Peter, you're not making any sense."

"You know I used to look up to you." Peter hissed, once again turned with his eyes a steady blur on Erik. "I thought you'd be alright, terrorist and all that aside. But Tabitha was right, fuck that, I'd rather get money."

Peter readied to jump down the balcony, and Erik made a move to stop him, but something caught the drunk on Peter's eyes. A sound of a gun that reverberated against sandy air and salty scent, a shine against the moonlight of plastic white, and a bullet that headed steadfast towards his father. His reaction was late, hindered by the alcohol, but he _needed_ to save Erik. _Hey watch out_ escaped from his throat as he made a turn to warn him, but it was all too late as he pushed Erik out of the way and rendered himself the victim. Somehow all Peter saw was red and white—his stomach pooled out crimson, and Erik's worried calls came in a haze of misty clouds. He felt hands all over him, and one strong particular right hand held his wrist.

"It doesn't matter how shitty you are." Peter croaked out to the blurred figure of orange and maroon—he felt the last chance come before him. "Forget I said anything."

"Peter!"

"Old man." Peter coughed out the blood, stars in his eyes—or were they just shiny tears?—as he held tight onto the lifeline. "I'm just really glad I met you."


	9. please don't forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was extremely hard to write, if you're squeamish and violence really doesn't bode well for you then please turn back now, this is going to get really bad. There's a big trigger!warning, like a mini shoot out. Please check the tags as I've updated them to fit this chapter, but overall it's just such an emotionally trying chapter for all the characters, specially our dear Maximoff/Lehnsherr/Gorzky family.

"Hello?"

"Wanda?" A small voice whispered trough the receiver. "Please come back."

"Mom."

"Honey, I know you're scared, and I know you don't know how to face us right now, but please—your brother needs you."

"I can't."

"Please."

"I'm sorry."

The phone clicked, and Magda breathed in deep her sigh, before hanging up. She turned to Aly who'd been patiently waiting for any further news on her brother, or her sister—or anyone and anything at all—sat on the make-shift bed in their make-shift room that Charles had urgently prepared. Magda shook her head, eyes dropped down to the floor. She rubbed her palms up and down her arms and shoulders through the thin sheet of her long sleeved top—as if to seek some sort of comfort or warmth from the small gesture.

"Nothing." Magda spoke softly, her whole body leaning back tired against the carved wooden door, her head up in a hopeless state. "Your sister's not coming."

"But mom, this is _Peter_ we're talking about—her _twin brother_." Aly snapped and stood up, throwing the pillow she was previously hugging, down to the ground. "How could she put whatever she has in mind before him?!"

"If there's one thing I know for sure about your sister—and trust me, _I know a lot of things about your sister_ , she is my daughter after all—it's that, she takes after Erik." Magda weakly stated, her knees buckled as she gave into the weight of all her tears, and she slid down shamefully to the floor. "Her father had always been the worst, especially when it came to impulsive decision making. Choosing vengeance over any sort of practicality—it's just one of those things."

"But what about Peter, mom?" Aly cried desperately. "What about him mom, huh? He's hurt, and she's not even there for him!"

"She's not coming Aly, face it."

"Then let me talk to her!"

"No." Magda shook her head viciously, and tried to stand herself up, hands clutching the carved decor of the door, accidentally pulling it open. "I need a bottle."

"Mom!"

"Perhaps I can offer you a drink?"

Both mother and daughter had been too occupied with the muddled mess of their minds, they barely registered the presence of a certain professor, nor did they hear the roll of plastic wheels against the plied wooden floorboards.

"Professor."

"Scotch or bourbon?"

"We don't—"

Aly tried to intervene but Charles brought a hand up, a gentle smile ever so calming on the understanding contort of his wrinkled face. Despite being the ripe age of 51, Charles still held a healthy and youthful glow in his eyes that sent a sort of assurance to many people—including Aly and Magda.

"You don't have to worry, Alyson, I'll take good care of your mother."

With a huff and an uncertain nod, Aly plopped back down on the bed—seriously annoyed at the professor for calling her _Alyson_. Magda followed suit after Charles. He strolled out of the small closet room, and onto the narrow hallway that lead them towards Hank's treasured lab.

"Where is he?" Magda whispered in a quiet sort of worry. "Erik, I mean."

"He is currently with Nina." Charles took a small glance at Magda's sudden stiff figure, before he urged for her to move on with him. "I'm assuming he is bidding a short farewell, seeing as he plans to go after the men."

"Did you read that out of him?"

"No." Charles lightly tried to laugh, solemn eyes and dry lips. "I made it a point to no longer read or take control over that wicked mind of his, especially after today."

"Then how'd you find out?

"He told me himself." He simply stated. "He does that sometimes, you know—I don't have to read everything off his mind."

Magda ignored the small quip Charles threw at her.

"Are you going to stop him?"

"I'll try my best." He commented wryly. "But that's never usually enough."

This almost made Magda smile, if not for the morbid situation they were faced with.

"I guess I could relate."

They reached the end of the long hallway, and the silver doors slid open to Hank's lab. Charles let Magda step inside first, before he followed shortly afterwards. He lead her to an isolated table, away from the bottled up experiments and burning bunsens, the sterilized medical equipments, and machines of all kinds of dialectics and diagnostics. The table was set with two full bottles of strong whiskey—one scotch and the other bourbon—and two glasses with crystal ice on glass coasters.

"What does Erik have to do with Peter's assailant?"

Magda sat down, taking in her hand the small glass, before she poured in a hefty amount of scotch all at once.

"That's a good question."

"Then answer it." She snapped and slammed the glass down on the hard and sturdy mahogany, her drink spilled bitter gold in little dews. "You may have time to beat around the bushes but I don't! My son's life is in jeopardy and if you don't tell me what that bastard has to do with it then I will march right up there and get the fucking answer out of him myself!"

"Mrs Maximoff, please calm down."

"No, you don't get to tell me—tell someone who is in the brink of going insane because she has no idea if her son will make it and there's still so many things I have left to make up for the whole time I was never there—to fucking calm down!"

She spieled as she stood up, pacing back and forth in front of Charles, hysterical tears formed in the ducts of her eyes. Charles sat calmly, not daring to speak as he allowed her the small chance to let out all anger that she'd had bottled up for god knows how long.

"You think Peter smiles because he's happy?! No, that's not it—Peter smiles because he _needs_ to. If he's not laughing, smiling, or at least pretending to himself that he's somewhat having a good time, he'd go crazy— _I'd_ go crazy." Magda shook her head frantically, breathless as her tirade went on, but she did not stop—not even when her heart suffocated under the heavy constrict of the words she spoke. " _I_ needed to know he was going to be okay, that _he would be fine after all this time_."

"I understand your pain Mrs Maximoff."

"No, don't you dare say that!" She pointed accusingly at him, eyes wild like the worried mother she was. "Just because you can read my mind—or everyone else's mind—you don't get to dictate or claim to know how I feel! How the fuck should you know when you're not the mother Erik abandoned with two mutant kids she'd never know she'd love more than her entire life!"

She stopped for a moment, before she threw her arms down the table, and wiped out the bottles and glasses that sat on top of it. The glasses broke and the shards flew towards her and Charles, their cheeks slashed, and their blood cleansed by the splashes of alcohol that sprayed on their faces.

"The truth is, Professor, Peter is _dying_." She leaned down on the table, hands clutched tightly the sides, turning her knuckles white. "He's been _dying_ to get out all his life, dying for a father that would care—that will stay, and not get him shot or killed or what the fuck ever Peter's been through because of Erik and his fucking family!"

"Mrs Maximoff."

"Peter's dying for someone to understand him—for something in his life to for once happen without ever hurting anyone else!

" _Please_ , Ms Maximoff."

"He cares too much about people that don't care about him and maybe he's not sick of it but I am!" She screamed, before she flipped the table aside and Charles rolled back to avoid the splinters that flew towards him. "Do you know how hard it is for a mother to watch her son suffer, for twenty-six fucking years, and never know what to do about it?!"

"Mrs Maximoff, please, I understand where you're coming from—maybe not what you're feeling, because I would never again dare to claim that I could feel the hurt you are feeling right now." Charles tried calmly, his voice a little scratchy and rocky, but somehow—his gentle empathy still showed through. "I know that you're severely worried about Peter, and you feel that Erik has betrayed you, and he may as well have."

Charles efforts had started to work. His voice turned velvet and soft, and his hands moved slowly to gesture for her to sit down—and she did, head down and everything. 

"But please calm down and listen to me, because this will not help Peter's recovery in any sort of way."

"What do you have to offer?" She looked up at him, eyes brimmed with so much unshed tears she no longer had the power to stop—so they fell, _uncontrollably_. "Besides these empty words because, psychic or not, you won't be able to dictate whether Peter survives in the future—and you damn well know that."

"The truth." He answers with no hesitation. "It's all I have to offer—the truth."

Charles closed his eyes, and little by little, a scene began to piece itself together in Magda's mind, and she saw it—the answer to the very question she had been asking. And it was just as she had feared.

The blurred images formed and she saw elevator doors open wide. And the scene played on, Charles greeted fiercely by a hasty Remy whose eyes spelled a plan for trouble that Charles found no time to comprehend. 

"Remy."

"Do you know why Peter was shot?" Remy asked, his voice a steeled edge that somehow cut into Charles' skin. "Tell me, Professor, do you know why Peter was shot?"

"No."

Remy raged and shoved the professor's chair backwards. Charles gripped his wheels tightly as he swerved around, and the elevator doors began to close, calling for him to come in.

"His bastard father."

That was all Remy said before he charged for Hank's lab. Charles tried to freeze him, but found himself unable to do so—his strong protective feelings for Peter overwhelmed any desire to prevent Remy from leaving. He sighed, a hand reached out, before he slowly dropped it and turned for the elevator. He strolled in, a mental cry of plea sent to Hank, begging him to keep Remy in line. He knew the blue beast wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop Remy from whatever he planned to do, but it would be a nice reassurance to have someone around the explosive teenager.

As the elevators brought him up, he tried to calm the erratic beating of his heart—unsure of how to handle Erik in whatever state he was in right now. The doors opened and he wasted no time rolling out towards the tea room. Upon reaching, the wooden doors flew open to reveal his haggard friend—eyes a sharp contrast of cold red and fire blue.

"Erik."

"I'm leaving."

"To where?"

"To find the people that did this."

"And how do you suppose you find them?

Erik turned viciously to his friend, halfway through walking out the tea room doors in his stride for the mansion front doors. He leaned in, eyes rueful towards Charles' own blue ones, the sadness echoed like the glow of his deathly anger.

"I just know."

"Who are they, Erik?" Charles wasted no time in asking, his patience slowly running thin. "What do they have to do with you?"

"I don't know Charles!"

"But you do my friend." Charles reprimanded, his eyes wavered in slight discomfort at Erik's magnetic hold on his chair. "I know you do, I can feel your anger—and it's not anger at them, but anger at yourself. You find that you are the most responsible for what has happened to Peter."

"If you know all the answers—if all you need to do is dare fiddle with my mind—then pardon me Charles, but I don't think you should be asking me anymore questions!" Erik's arm flung all over the place and Charles' chair shook in a nervous manner. "So what if I know the culprit—I'll be the one to take care of them!"

"Erik please!" Charles finally snapped, and Erik froze with a livid frown, midway to pushing the chair out of the way. "I need to understand what is going on! You need to tell me."

"What's there to tell Charles?"

"The truth."

Charles let Erik go—and almost instantly, Erik fell to the floor, helpless and angry at no one but himself. He stared at his hands, tears almost clouding his vision, and he could not explain the twist that held onto his heart, desperately clutching it in a poisonous tangle of worry for the wounded Peter Maximoff.

"I've betrayed you Charles—you should never have trusted me."

"What did you do Erik?"

"They were my allies." Erik looked up, his copper hair a mess over his eyes and forehead. "When I left seven months ago, I spent a good three of them searching for new people to become part of my brotherhood. And through that, I came across people—people I did not recognize, and two that I did."

"Oh no."

"She first approached me, her name was Elizabeth Braddock. She'd just left her underground work, had been enslaved all her life—by pretend figures of authority, and wannabe gods. And most importantly, she was one of us horsemen."

"Psylocke."

Charles uttered with no hesitation, as if he already knew right from the start who it would be—and he didn't need to read Erik's mind to know.

"She had some friends, and just the kind of people I had been looking for. One of them, I'd already known—we'd already known." Erik deathly whispered, his hands balled tightly into fists that shook uncontrollably. "The last time we saw each other, many of our kind had died in the hands of Bolivar Trask. He wasn't too keen on being the next target, so he left me and Raven to fend for ourselves the first time around. It was Janos."

"I knew he'd been alive." Charles nodded all too knowingly, subtly using his powers to calm Erik's angry thoughts. "You failed to mention him, with the rest of your old brotherhood."

"They were a tight group who followed Apocalypse's ideal—we as the dominant race must take back what is ours. And it was everything I needed for the foundation of my brotherhood.

"Who else was in this group, Erik?"

"There were six of us. Psylocke had assembled them first, a group of misfits who had nowhere else to go, and Janos came second in command." Erik stood up and walked slowly, small steps towards Charles, as the latter braced himself for any single moment Erik could potentially burst. "Viper joined third—heard about the formed group on one of her missions for Caliban, and she recognized Psylocke the second they came face to face. Agent Zero and Sabretooth came together as a sort of a package deal, both lost after the fall of Stryker's Weapon X program. I was the last recruitment, yet I'd blindly acted as their leader."

Charles rolled over softly towards Erik, his eyes staring up at the haggard man and his deep breaths, and hair that fell all over the place. 

"What happened, my friend?"

"I met up with Raven, under your orders." Erik paced, his steps slow and misguided. "She'd told me about the predicament, said it had been a family emergency, and I was a fool to doubt her even for a second. I'd been bugged at that time."

"Erik, no." Charles shook his head, eyes wide in fear. "Please tell me you did not."

"My leave was a signal of betrayal, and none of them were too happy. But it almost completely slipped my mind that I'd still been under orders." Erik stopped, before before he turned to look at Charles, eyes both apologetic and rueful. "My entire time in this mansion Charles, even before I'd even found my Nina, it was all under their surveillance."

"Erik!"

Without the intention to listen to the rest of Charles' lecture, Erik darted for the door. He pulled up his hand in a command as they flew open and he ran out, vengeance in his gritted teeth and the way his eyes bled blue. Charles couldn't stop him—he knew it himself that he shouldn't anyway. This was Erik's battle—a struggle against himself, his demons and the consequences of whatever rash actions he'd done. And although he might not have been aware of it, the stakes were higher than one could imagine; the life of a son Erik would never have the chance to ever know was his own, would be a tragic loss—specially to someone so desperate for a family as one Erik Lehnsherr had been.

Once she came back from the vision, Magda looked up to Charles, more tears helplessly trailing down her cheeks as he gently rolled over to her.

"No one regrets what happened to Peter more than Erik does."

In her hands of a prayer, her head slid down, voice raspy and her face was stained in black mascara and red blotches of dried up waterworks.

"I thought you said he was saying farewell to Nina—that he hadn't left yet."

Charles smiled sadly, a painful contraction of his muscles—one that aged him.

"Sometimes, even I have to lie." He spoke softly, and he held onto her shaking hands—as if some kind of priest ready to answer her prayers, and cleanse her of her sins. "Then maybe, just maybe, I'd feel better about myself—because I could still say I tried harder."

"You could've used your power on him."

"Well, that's the thing about us telepaths." He snickered good heartedly, but there was a sense of resent underneath his front, and his hold tightened on her hands. "We have the power to read everything and everyone's mind, and we could make them see and do things whichever way we want."

"That's handy."

She tried to laugh, but her voice got caught in her throat, and all that she could utter was a choked up cough.

"But we unfortunately don't have the power to change everything else—not the past, not the future." Charles continued, and she looked up into his hopeful eyes. "All we can do is manipulate how someone remembers those moments. We are the temporary anaesthetic to someone's permanent pain."

"Thank you, Professor."

With a nod, he rolled out of her way, and headed for the elevator doors.

"Shall we go up?"

In the midst of all the happenings within that big school mansion in Westchester, New York—Wanda had her own dealings to attend to. And as soon she put down the phone on her mother, she turned around from the secluded airport phone booths, only to be greeted by two young adults clad in black.

"Hello."

One cheerfully exclaimed, a face she knew all too well—one that had happily copied off her essays for three semesters in English Literature—with the furry cat ears she's been known well to wear, her blonde hair, and vixen coffee eyes that whispered all kinds of mischief. The other she was more unfamiliar with, but she could guess they were allies sent to pick her up—he was younger than them, for definite, and he held a metallic bo staff with his hands covered in cut up gloves and the fingers out, and his hair was a mesh of cherry bomb red and dark brown.

"Wanda, we need you to come with us."

The boy spoke, a forceful sense of authority laced through his tone.

"I'm not going back until I avenge whatever happened to my brother." She growled, her right hand balled tight into a fist as small electric sparks of red crackled around it. "Someone has to pay for what happened to Peter."

"You've killed the men Wanda, it's over!" Tabitha exclaimed, her own palm generating a sort of plasmic energy as she stepped in front of Remy. "Peter doesn't need you to kill a bunch of people—for him right now, what he needs is his sister beside him."

"I'll kill the bastards responsible for his getting shot as well."

"No offense but I think Magneto has got that well and covered."

Wanda hissed before she lifted her hand up to charge for Tabitha, only to stop at Remy's sudden interference, her hands held imprisoned above her head, and his staff lightly touching her neck, as if a threaten to choke her. She clicked her tongue and spun them around, letting loose his grip on her before she kicked his staff and it flew directly for Tabitha. Luckily enough, the blonde's reflex had been sharp enough, and she evaded it quite easily with a jump and a somersault off the floor.

"Jesus Christ, girl." Tabitha hissed, now across the other side of the secluded area. "You're good."

"Listen here you both." Wanda twisted herself again, kicking the nearby phone off the handle and sending it flying to Remy who smartly stepped out of the way, before hitting it back at Wanda who swiftly dodged. "I don't have time for petty little games, I've got business matters to attend to."

"If it's your revenge or murder business you're talking about then I'm sorry, but we can't let you do that." Tabitha took a side aerial, and threw a plasmic ball at Wanda who hexed it in time to shoot for the floor instead of directly at her. "Strictly the professor's orders."

"I am not under his command."

"But we are!"

With a growl, Tabitha launched her body at the scarlet brunette—but Wanda jumped right up in time, hexing Remy's staff as it rolled forward to trip up Tabitha. The blonde nearly fell, if not for her quick hand spring off the wall, before she kicked the staff towards Remy who easily caught it.

"We're taking you home with us, Wanda—whether you like it or not."

She charged with another ball forming in the palm of her hand, and Wanda shot her hex at the line of luggage trolleys, one quickly unfastening and rolling down for Remy and Tabitha. Remy slid a card out of his sleeve, before throwing it right to the assaulter. The small blast sent it off to the other side, aiming for Wanda who hexed another to stop the run. Both trolleys crashed upon each other and the Wanda used the distraction to aim for Tabitha. She grabbed the blondes hair and hurled her inside the telephone booth, closing the glass cased door with one arm up and the other aimed at Remy who slowly backed away.

"You people don't get to decide what choices I make." She fiercely threatened. "Maybe you can do it for Magneto or Peter, even my mom or Aly—but not for me! I know what I have to do."

"Wanda, Peter—"

"Don't you dare use my brother's feelings against me because it didn't work before and it's not going to work right now!" She cut Remy off, her scarlet magic a sizzling glitter on her shaking hand. "I know what I'm doing—I know the consequences of my actions—and I don't need you all to dictate it for me. I almost lost him once, I'm never going to let that mistake happen again."

"But what if Erik's the one responsible for all your brother's sufferings—huh?!" Remy reasoned, his hands wild in dramatic gestures, and Tabitha rolled her eyes at him. "What if it's him and your half-sister?!"

"Then I'll kill them too!"

"Even her?"

" _Especially her_."

"Enough!" Tabitha kicked the door open, and Wanda posed in defense, ready to shoot another hex if she needed to. "You know what, I don't care about your goals or whatever frightful speech you've got to offer us!"

"Then maybe you should leave."

"No Wanda, you're coming with us." Tabitha spoke viscously through gritted teeth, her hand up her hair, cautiously and slowly removing her black furry headband, before she threw it angrily to the ground. "Don't make me call out _the beast_ —because trust me _babe_ , you're not going to like it."

Unbeknownst to the arguing trio – and everybody else in the stately school mansion across the other side – the silver haired young man in question of all the havoc taking place had woken up from his trauma induced sleep, the near fatal blow to his heart enough to leave him half breathless. But his mind was left blank of any memories and any sense of moral coding. He did, however, feel the synergy between the monochrome beats of his heart and the soft flutters of electric purple butterflies that clouded his vision. His strong hand moved to steady himself up from the surgical bed, and his eyes darted to the silver doors of his ward. He slowly stepped out, and moved onwards to the corner most area of Hank's lab—an isolated closet built behind glass and metal casings that even the professor had no control over. With a code to the door, they slid open, and he picked up the closest weapon he could find.

And he shot.

Up the fourth floor, Aly had knocked tirelessly on the very last door of the hall, impatience etched all across her face, before it opened shyly, revealing a clueless Nina who stared up at her.

**"Mind if I come in?"**

**"No, please do."**

Aly wasted no time as she barged in, and Nina silently closed the door after her. Anger in her eyes, Aly turned to Nina, an accusing finger pointed right at the small child.

"Your family has ruined us!"

**"I'm sorry? I don't know what you just said, please speak Polish."**

"You want me to speak in Polish—fine princess, it seems like you're the most important person in this place anyway!" She grabbed the pillows on the bed, before throwing them down on the floor, causing Nina to slowly back away. **"We were fine without you and your father messing up our entire family! Because of you my brother could be dead!"**

 **"I'm sorry but I didn't want any of that to happen, please believe me."** Nina whispered, frightened by Aly's sudden outburst. **"I like him, I wish he could be my brother as well."**

 **"Peter will never be related to the likes of you and your pathetic terrorist father!"** Aly continued, a strong step forward as Nina continued to back away. **"He doesn't need you or _him_ —he has us. And he's had us for the past twenty-six years of his life because we were the only ones ever there for him—and the truth is that we're all he'll ever need!"**

**"I'm not trying to steal him from you!"**

Nina's voice began to heighten as well, finding her voice and courage as she stepped up to Aly's challenge and came face to face with her.

 **"I know you're not, but I don't care because you may as well be!"** Aly pushed Nina down, and the little girl whimpered as she twisted her ankle upon her fall to the ground—but Aly didn't care, and she continued on. **"Look at him—he's been shot and in coma! Do you think that's easy for me—for my mom?!"**

Aly was about to go on, but _bang_ sounded off a distance, and both girls turned to look at the door.

**"What was that?"**

Aly looked down, her eyes widened as she realized what she'd just had done.

**"I do not know!"**

**"That came from downstairs!"**

**"We might be under attack, the same people that attacked him!"**

Not sparing another minute, Aly moved to slam the door close, panting in a breathy panic.

**"We need to barricade that door!"**

Nina trembled, but nodded nonetheless, and moved to stand up. She winced as her ankle twisted, but she ignored it and push her bed in front of the door. Aly worked on the bedside table and big desk by the window, eyes wearily shot at Nina's leg as she noticed the slight bend. Once done pushing and sure that it would hold up, Aly turned to Nina—the small child frantically ran around and tried to find anything else to strengthen their barrier, her feet beginning to redden and swell. Aly shook her head, hands balled tight into a fist, before she grabbed the little girl's wrist and swept her feet off the ground to carry her, throwing herself into the closet whilst she pulled Nina onto her lap.

**"Don't make a sound."**

Down the lab, Peter had aimed straight for the explosive chemicals, giving him just the reaction he had been hoping for. Flashes of white magnesium and lithium sparks flew in arrays of broken test tubes that burned in bright flames.

And he smirked.

The screams came shortly afterwards and the professor knew there was something terribly wrong—Peter's thoughts had been eerily quiet since he fell in a state of comatose. But there was something different about the lack of presence this time around—as if he'd been completely absent, which Charles knew very well that he was not. He turned from his small talk with Magda, to the direction of the elevator doors, and he cried out in his mind.

_Jean!_

He grabbed Magda's hand, not a word of explanation and urged her to follow after him.

"Professor!"

"There's no time to explain, please come with me quickly Mrs Maximoff!"

The doors to the elevator opened, and a barrage of his students came pouring out in a shockwave of screams and sobbing jeers.

"Professor!"

Anna Marie cried out, her tears welling up in the rims of her sore eyes. He hushed her with a calming thought, and warned not to speak of it, until Magda had been sent away. With a nod, she fled for the door, and he mentally ordered the older kids left—Ororo, Jubilee and Bobby—to guide the others out. And with one last resort, he turned to the panicking Magda, with sorry blue eyes.

"I apologize greatly for this Mrs Maximoff." He spoke softly and she looked at him with genuine confusion, before she suddenly fell unconscious to the floor. "But this is for your own good."

He gestured for Bobby to pick her up, and take her away with them. The black haired teen nodded, solemn regret reflected through his dark coffee eyes, before he followed through with the orders and ran out with everyone else.

Up the second floor, Peter calmly stalked through the halls, his bare feet padded softly on the carpeted floor. He raised his arm up—hand on the gun, quick for the trigger—and pushed one of the doors open, slowly. He stepped into the creak of the hinges, and looked around the small space. There was a whine beneath the bed and through the slits he saw eyes staring up at him, terrified. He shot at the floor, his eyes wild in hysterical laughter as the small girl screamed—little Kitty Pride—before she disappeared through it. He hissed before shooting at the empty spot she crawled out of, five shots and five wasted bullets—if they'd even been bullets at all—and the flames swallowed up whatever else remained on sight.

He left and hunted for the next victim, eyes darted quickly amongst the open doors, before he came face to face with one tightly shut. He kicked it open, splinters flew and the sound of chipped wood rang loud and clear through his ear—but not enough to overpower the command of _kill everyone, kill her_. He looked around for any slight movement, before before a silver shine caught his eye and he aimed for it, but the kid had been quick and tackled him to the floor, before he ran out for the door. Peter _tsked_ and got up—he aimed and shot, fine white powder sprayed on his trigger hand, and the fire catapulted to the end of the long narrow hallway, setting the whole entire floor in a catastrophic blaze.

And he laughed.

Piotr ran to the floor, the stairs behind him slowly burning off in the second explosion Peter set alight. He cried, into the arms of a frantic Jean who had been on her way up, only to see the ashes of the newly built stairs.

"He came after me!"

The silver boy cried, unable to contain any tears—or his powers for that matter. And Jean hushed him whilst rubbing soft circles on his small metallic back. The professor rolled over, a stern look on his face, and she sighed, before setting Piotr down on the professor's lap.

"Please take care of him for me."

"I can't get through to Peter's head." Charles said, snappily. "I've tried everything."

"What's going on Professor?" Jean shook, her voice a fearful quiver that scratched its way out of her throat. "Why is he acting like that?"

"Someone's mind controlling him."

"Why isn't he using his powers?"

"The shot was too close to his heart, the fast pace of the beating would've stretched it out." The professor began to explain. "Hank injected a serum to temporarily halt his powers, derived from what he uses to keep himself in human form—just to slow down his body enough for the wound to slowly heal without his erratic heartbeat further damaging him."

"That's one less thing we need to worry about."

"Jean, we need to calm Peter down." He quickly stated, patting Piotr's back as the six-year-old began to cry out loud. "I know you're the only one strong enough to get through the telepathic barrier that our enemy has set up."

"Professor—"

"You did it for me in the time of Apocalypse, you can do this for me now."

"No professor, I'm not strong enough—you have the strongest mind professor." Jean shook her head vigorously, her fingers wrapped tightly on Charles' arm. "If anyone should do it, it should be you."

"I can't."

"And I shouldn't." Jean firmly stated, her hold on his arm getting tighter and more desperate with every word out of her mouth. "Peter's mind is already vulnerable enough as it is—specially because of the recent emotional and traumatic experience he went through. Now that the defenses are down, he is susceptible to telepathy, which he is currently under the control of."

"That is why you need to break into his mind and overpower whoever it is that's controlling him."

Charles reasoned, his other hand rested on top of Jean's shaking hold, his eyes pleaded.

"Professor, If I go in there, unstable powers and everything, I don't know how far I'd unknowingly go, before I break his mind." She whispered, her steel blue eyes steady on his own set of crystal orbs. "One telepath inside is enough, two is way too much, no one—specially him—would be able to handle it."

The elevators dinged, and both heads snapped up to see _4th Floor_ flash up the sliding doors. Their eyes widened, as one single thought rang through their heads. Jean was the first to react, quickly holding up a hand to force the doors open. Unlucky for them, Peter had already exited the elevator. The lift rapidly fell down their floor and they both rushed in, not even bothering to push the button as Jean's shaking hands guided them up.

"He wouldn't do it Professor. Those are his _sisters_."

"He might not kill Aly—I hope he doesn't anyway." Charles spoke fast, hoarse voice and arm wrapped tightly and protectively on Piotr. "But Nina's a whole different story. And if it is what I think it is, this has been _their_ plan all along."

"Their?"

"They want Erik to suffer for his betrayal, and the best way to Magneto's demise is through his family."

"But Peter's _his_ son—and he doesn't know that. Do this people know?"

"I don't doubt that they do." He croaked out, his mind in turmoil as he tried to calm down not only Jean, but everyone within the entire building that had been shaken up by Peter's sudden attack. "I don't doubt at all for one second that shooting Peter was ever an accident—if anything, it played out exactly how they wanted it to."

"How could people be so cruel?"

"It's a price some people have to pay, in order to learn from their mistakes."

"You're talking as if this is the end, it's not—is it, Professor?"

"I have _hope_."

All the way to the top of the floor, Peter had started banging on Nina's door. The startled two that shot for the closet hid behind dark folded clothes, and the smell of musk and moth. Nina watched, her hands shook uncontrollably as it held tight one of the dresses she'd been gifted upon her entry to the mansion—courtesy of Raven and Charles. Aly sat no better, eyes brimmed with tears, and her cheek cut from the splinter of the wardrobe walls.

 **"Will we be okay?"** Nina asked, her voice monotone, her eyes wide and curious—as if she didn't fully understand the predicament they were in, but she did. **"Will we be okay?"**

 **"They'll come for us, I promise they will."** Ally bravely uttered. **"Your father will save you, right?"**

**"I don't know."**

**"Peter too—he'll come and save you."** Aly turned sadly to Nina, the smile that she tried to put on flattened under the fear for her life. **"He seems to like saving your side of the family."**

**"I do not understand."**

The banging on the door grew louder and both girls snapped their vision up at the rattling door, the assault never-ending. Until it broke down. And all that blocked the path burned in an inferno. Aly choked back a sob as she saw her brother – gun in hand, a crazed smile on his face and the medical bay uniform decorated his deteriorating body – standing manically before them.

"No."

**"It's him, he has come to save us."**

"No!" Running out the closet doors, Aly came face to face with her brother, tears of disbelief and betrayal rained down her face as she looked at the state of him. "Peter, please tell me this isn't you."

"Where's the other girl?"

He sounded amused, the smile on his face extremely dangerous—explosive even.

"She's your sister!" Aly moved in front of the closet, arms up in defence and the doors creaked as she stepped up to her brother. "You're not a murderer Peter, please."

Peter just laughed and tried to walk pass her, but she pushed him away. He tumbled to the floor, eyes ignited in a different sort of fury, and she stared down at him with saddened eyes.

"I don't like her. I hate what her family has done to our family and I wish you never found out who your father was." She sobbed out, her back pressed firmly against the closet doors, preventing Nina from seeing through this ugly side of Peter. "But I know you Peter, and jealous or not, I know you love her—she's your sister for God's sakes and you're Peter Maximoff. And all you have is a never-ending capacity of love for your family. Please do not do this."

"I said move Alyson."

He said in a twisted smile as he stood up, but she refused to back down.

"I know whoever's in that head of yours is not you, because you would never call me that because you know _I hate it_." Aly hissed, spreading her arms and feet even wider, determined to keep Peter out. "Peter, I know you're in there, please hear me out."

Peter took a sharp step forward, his face immediately changed from the trigger happy thrill for the kill, to anger and impatience. Aly stepped back further into the closet as she possibly could—evidently scared of her brother. But she no longer cared—nothing will ever be worse than the idea of _Peter Maximoff_ ever being anything like Magneto.

"I'll say this one last time." He whispered in a heavy a growl, he leaned in forward, until his forehead pressed down hers, and his teeth was bared. "Move."

"No."

"Fine, if you don't move, then join her in hell."

"No Peter, please." Aly begged, the hope of ever sparking Peter's memory into place slowly slipping out of her reach. "I'm your sister Peter, you would never do this."

"Three."

"Please Peter, we still have a lot to do together, you promised me a lot of things and you still have a lot of debts to pay, Peter please!"

"Two."

"You said we'd be okay, right? You said you'd come home safe—Peter you haven't even visited home yet in a long time, please. Let's come back together, you, me, Mom and Wanda."

"One."

Peter's eyes flashed in memory of his sisters. Wanda who tirelessly took care of him when Magda hadn't been around. She'd tainted her hands red just so he wouldn't suffer any longer—just so he wouldn't have to do it himself. And she'd made him laugh when all the booze had smelled too strong, and their mother had laid down the floor laughing and crying to herself. Then he thought of Aly, and her wonderful olive eyes and copper hair. The way she used to run around in fairy wings and promise to grant him all his heart's desire—and in a way she did. She'd sat on his lap and wondered what on earth was going on when a man lifted an entire stadium, and pointed guns at the famed president. And her innocent eyes looked up at him, asking if things will be okay—and he hugged her tight, saying they will, before he ran off in a promise to come home safe. And Nina was the youngest of the fleet, and even though he'd never really truly known her, the smile she offered had fixed every broken piece of Peter's heart. Because he'd been a screw-up right from the start but this person—Nina Gorszky—had believed in him when he failed to believe in himself.

_Kill._

"Peter, please don't forget, Peter please."

And he smiled.

"Night night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best to make this chapter sound as compelling as I possibly could but it's just really hard to write descriptions well when you're overflowing with ideas you need to pen down lest you want to forget them—bc I've done that a couple of times. Also, it's hard to put everything down, all the things happening and make it sound exciting as well, I mean you can't exactly make it play out the same way it would in your head, you know. Anyway, I've made so much research on Psylocke's telepathic powers to make this chapter work. I had extreme writer's block for awhile, that's why it took me a long time to update, and I'm not going to lie it'll probably be another long while before I update but I promise you—I'll complete this story, I will, I really will bc DAMMNIT PETER MAXIMOFF DESERVES BETTER AND YOU KNOW THAT. But anyway, I watched - bunch of tributes to Tate Langdon from AHS, and I just had to incorporate what I saw in this. I hope it worked! Also, action is not my best suit, so I'm sorry about that but I hope you enjoyed this anyway? Now, some characters may be a bit ooc so if you find any please let me know and I'll check over it, I wrote this like at ten different separate intervals so I had no idea where I was going with one half of the characterization, so if anything doesn't quite fit let me know and I'll work on it. As usual, not beta'd so I'll get on that right away, it's just that I barely had time to write this chapter much less fix it all up. I apologize in advance for any typos and grammatical errors.
> 
> Edit: Guys I'm so sorry, I didn't realize that Nina does understand English until I finally rewatched Apocalypse and by the time the chapter had already been published, so so so sorry for that continuity issue. Pls take this as just a slight AU then, either that or forget her ever speaking English in the film ever happened and the entire time she was with Erik they spoke in Polish okay? Okay.


	10. i'd rather be getting high than watching my family die

"Don't you think it'd disappoint your mom if she found out you've been smoking pot and injecting cocaine into your system?"

"I guess it would."

Peter breathed in the high, thirteen years old with no direction, and questions of whether or not anything in his life meant something at all—and as far as he could tell right then, _it didn't_. But he was surrounded with people who he thought had felt the same way he did, and maybe it was okay to smoke or inject if he had the right lot of them around—which he should've known, _he didn't_.

"Here kid." One of the older girls spoke gruffly, dirty blonde hair tainted in neon colors of pink and blue, hand out with a bag of powdered toxin. "You seem to need it more than we do."

"Specially since you'll be seeing him tonight." Another girl spoke, her breath a ghost of grey smoke that wafted around the small allied corner the group had settled themselves in. "You know how he gets."

"Yeah." Peter whispered, an unconscious hand lifted to caress the back of his neck, where welts decorated his once smooth skin. "I know more than you all do."

Silence took over, five girls and three other boys said nothing as they marveled the escape the high culture offered. Peter side eyed the telephone booth that stood just a little across their hiding place. With a sigh he stood up, all eyes strained over his walking figure as he departed for a short few seconds, weary glances sent amongst his peers.

He ignored the burning holes they sent up his spine, and focused on getting to the booth, before he arrived and locked himself in, eyes in desperate search for some clarity as he dialed a number he should've known off by heart. It took him more than ten tries to get it right and he wondered if it was the pot and the cocaine or just his nerves.

"Hello?"

A familiar voice answered his call, and he smiled a little to himself as he heard the worried tone that laced through the soft and soothing way she spoke the word.

"Hey sis."

"Peter?!" The other line exclaimed, the sound of relief flooded his ears, before it went onto a spiral of curses and winded tirades of his whereabouts and sudden disappearance. "Where the fuck are you, _you stupid child_?!"

 _Ah, same old Wanda_ —he thought to himself.

"You've got mom on the brink of a breakdown, Aly won't stop asking for you and I've been _everywhere_ trying to find you so I could bring you back _home_!"

"Wanda."

She ignored him and continued on.

"Do you think it's funny to worry all of us half to death?!"

He chuckled, despite himself, which his sister obviously heard as she breathed in loudly, just about ready to set off on another rant, but—he stopped her.

"I'm fine Wanda." He spoke, a little uncertain himself as he croaked out her name. "Really, don't worry too much about me, I'm somewhere safe."

"Pietro."

She'd said his real name, and oh how he wished he could hate her for it—but he obviously couldn't. She'd said it in the most adoring way possible, his heart hurt a little at the thought of her desperation.

"Where are you?"

"I'm fine Wanda."

"I never asked how you were—I'm asking where you are." She snapped, her breath harsh and he clutched the phone as the words struck a chord in his heart. "Goddamnit, tell me right now or so help—"

"Wanda, _please_."

"Don't _please_ me." She sighed, and Peter clutched the phone tighter, his gaze drifted past the misted glass of the booth as his _ride_ —a black Cadillac, shiny against the midnight shade—finally arrived. "Don't make me read your mind Pietro."

His eyes widened.

"You wouldn't."

"You know fairly well I would." She snarled at him, a curl in her voice that somewhat told him he was about to get an earful of Polish curses sent his way. **"God, I don't know what's gotten into you lately but you know rightly well that I will use everything in my powers to get inside your head and find out."**

"Christ sis, I don't even understand a word you just said but I already know you're threatening to read my mind through this phone call."

"Well, if you know rightly well, then you know what your options are. Either you tell me the truth or I could pull it out of you."

"Or I could hang up."

Before Wanda could even protest, he'd already slammed the phone down, an alarming ring from the dial resonated across that small booth at the side of the street. He grunted, before his eyes trailed back to the silhouette across the cornered alleyway, of the one they'd named _boss_. With a small shiver—whether it was from the cold frosty winter or the fear that somehow wormed its way into his spine, _he would never know_ —crept up him, and he hesitantly left the phone booth, before he marched slowly and bravely across the street, towards the man and his band of miscreants and strays.

What he didn't know was that Wanda had known him better than that—and right before he could hang up, she'd already browsed through his thoughts, and readied to leave as soon as Peter hung up on her. Gritted teeth, eyes static and psychotic, she'd left their small little house just outside of D.C. and drove fast out into Peter's rescue, age be damned. The lights of her mother's car flashed dangerously as she raced through the small neighborhood, trashcans knocked and power lines snapped in the midst of her angry driving—she hadn't been named _Scarlet Witch_ by him for nothing, _after all_.

Across the other side, Peter had wordlessly entered the car, bright eyed girls turned to him in whispers and pity, the boys all blind eyes to the events that unfolded before them. Like a man to be sent to prison, he sat at the back seat, their _boss_ beside him, just a mere touch away, in that black Cadillac. They wandered across the midtown streets, wrapped up in slow burning silence, and Peter had never wanted to run away as much he did right then. The _boss_ looked down, a cruel smile sent his way, and Peter looked away as he felt the man pull out his preferred instrument of torture for the night. He'd closed his eyes, drugs in his system like the drugs in the back of the car's trunk, driver's eyes all over the place, glanced over everywhere but at the rear view mirror. And it started.

Peter remembered that night clearly—especially the crash. The car had been hurled off to the side of the road, and the boss had just been sniffing his share of the coccaine before he accidentally inhaled it in all at once at the sudden impact. The driver tried to swerve left, but the wheels skidded through the road's barricade instead and Peter was sent flying out in his wounded and shirtless glory.

Peter landed safely into a pad of snow, and as he peaked out of the dusty white frost, his eyes widened at the sight of his sister dragging the two unconscious men out with her red powers. She snapped towards him, an obvious glare masked her massive concern, before she hurled the car across the other way and it fell completely into the forest down the road, leaving only a few bags of pot and cocaine to herself.

"Wanda."

"Shut the fuck up Pietro."

She was mad, he could tell—and _Wanda like that_ was hard to deal with. So he kept his mouth shut, and she marched to pick up the fallen bags of illegal drugs. With one swoop of the hand, the two other men slid towards her, and she bent down and opened the bags, dirty white coated her fingers to match the white that dusted her dress.

"What are you doing?"

Peter couldn't help but ask, but she'd ignored him and continued to fiddle with the men. She jerk off their coat, before she forcefully stuffed their faces with the bags of cocaine. She pushed the white further into their noses and hexed them to breathe it all in.

Peter saw this and tried to stand up to stop her, but she'd kept him on the floor with another pile of snow that fell down on top of him from the nearby rock above his head. Wanda grabbed a handful of the cocaine, and once again shoved it all down the men's throats before she was satisfied with their lack of breath and unbeating hearts. With all that done, she'd thrown their bodies into the curb, before she took long strides towards Peter who'd stared up at her in what she could only decipher as fear.

"Wanda." He quivered. "How could—ho—"

"How could _I_ , you ask?"

"Wa—wanda."

"How could _you_?!" She slapped him right across the face and his cheek was marred with the white leftovers that stained her fingers. "What the fuck were you thinking running around with people like them?!"

"They were my friends!"

"Friends don't do what they did to you Pietro."

"How would you even know, you don't have any!"

"And whose fault do you think that is?" She folded her arms and stood straight up in front of him, eyes glared down at his fragile little form. "You know those men don't care about you."

"Stop it."

"You wanted them to hurt you— _didn't you?_ " She taunted and he cowered before her as he backed himself further into the cold snow that bit frostily into his skin. "Because you don't have the courage to do it yourself."

"Shut up."

" _Shut up_?!" Wanda screeched. "You dare tell your older sister to shut up?!"

"Please Wanda, stop it!"

"You hate hearing the truth of the fact that everything is hard and you can't face it all on your own." She reprimanded, she never even gave him a chance to catch his breath, let alone speak back to her. "You're not as stupid as you make yourself up to be—you _knew_ what those guys were, what they _really wanted_ yet you went along with them anyway."

"So what if I did?!"

"And for what—to hurt yourself?!" He'd turned away, eyes unfocused as he stared out into the dead men that lay across the road. "Is it so that you can have someone else to blame when we find you left for dead in a gutter somewhere—is that it?!"

"No—that's not it!"

"Well _fuck you Peter_ but you have a family to go home to no matter how fucking alone you _think_ you are."

"That's—"

"How selfish of you to leave without a warning, to think that we'd be okay without you?" She stomped down her foot and the snow jumped up before it hastily settled itself down around her army boots. "How dare you foolishly dive in and hurt yourself purposely for a temporary pain like loneliness!"

"You don't know what the fuck I feel!"

"Of course I don't."

"Because you never had to hide your hair, or wait for forever to finally get it done and over with!"

Peter had finally gotten frustrated. He stood himself up and stared Wanda right in the eye—the first time he's ever done so.

"You may not care about things like having friends but I do! I'm sick of being by myself and if the only people willing to have my company are druggies and men in suits who had a past time for torture then so be it!"

She slapped him again.

"You're not alone _Pietro_ , you never were. I'm here, mom, Aly—don't you care about us?"

"Of course I do."

"Then let's go home."

She stretched out her hand for him to take, and he'd been hesitant in taking it—but he did so anyway as a sense of enlightenment flooded right through him. He had no idea what made Wanda so persuasive, but she was. And silently, _strongly_ , he'd thanked her as his fingers wrapped around her outstretched hand, palm to palm. She patted down his silver hair, the snow gradually dusted off him, and they walked towards their mother's car, parked a little ways off from the accident. They'd agreed right then to name the deaths they'd witness as overdose of drugs—and no other word of that night had been spoken.

The memory flashed out of Peter's mind as he held his sister at gun point, trigger aimed smack in the middle of her forehead. His breath got caught in his throat, his finger shook as it barely pulled for the kill. Aly was frantic, and the professor was right behind him, doing all in his power to keep Peter from shooting with Jean and her telekinetic powers that tried to steadily remove the gun from his grasp.

"Aly."

He whispered hoarsely, and she stared at him with _feared_ eyes—those eyes he'd never wanted her to look at him with. It was those same eyes that stared back at Wanda as she readied to kill humans right before him, those eyes he'd stared at the television with as his father dictated to the worlds the time for mutants to rule, those eyes that looked back at him as he told his mother the truth of Erik's escape, and those eyes that pleaded at Apocalypse as the mutant God prepared to break him. And right before those very eyes, he'd felt his world crash down before him.

"No." He spoke as he fought off whoever it had been that held tightly for control over his mind. "No! Get away from me!"

He threw the gun to the floor, and Jean hurriedly ran for it as she made it so that Peter did not get a hold of it again. He held onto his head, vigorously he shook it as if it'd somehow get rid of the voice within it—the ones that tempted him to kill. Aly's legs gave out but she did not stop shaking – backed up against the window, she cried and covered her eyes, as if somehow, if she at least stopped looking, the image of her crazed brother would stop haunting her. Peter was still throwing a tantrum, and the professor was barely holding on—everyone else was. And Nina could only stare from her hiding place.

"Jean!" The professor called, immediately he rolled towards the fallen and crying Aly. "Grab Peter!"

With a nod of her head, Jean stumbled her way in through the door and towards the hysterical Peter who was shaking and crying, his powers alarmingly beginning to creep back.

"We need to penetrate our way into his mind and force the telepath out."

Charles spoke fast as he clutched onto Piotr with one hand and Aly on the other, a swirl of panicked thoughts raced through his mind, before he was finally able to feel the whirlwind that was Peter's fast paced mind, accompanied by the loud roaring of Jean's red powers.

"But how, professor?!"

The nineteen year old cried out, hand squeezed tight by the wailing Peter who rolled aimlessly on the floor.

"I'll do it."

"But Peter—"

With a viscous shake of the head, the professor cut her off, blue eyes turned towards her in a deep anxiety, thoughts barely controlled as so many other things ran through his mind.

"No, this is our only opening." He began to explain, fast and breathless in his speech. "Once his powers come back it'll be too difficult to get in, we'd be leaving him vulnerable to another bout of the enemy's telepathy who has already gained access to the inner workings of his mind."

"What are you saying, professor?"

"If that becomes the case, his powers may no longer be able to keep them out." He concluded, a stiff nod of the head, his eyes glazed over the sad sight of the silver Maximoff, his heart beat desperately for Erik's return to be _here for his son_. "If we at least get them out now, we'll be able to ensure that once his powers come back, they'll have no way back in. You understand?"

"Understood."

And with just a nod, Jean began working her way into Peter's mind, finding vulnerable spots and forcing her way in as the professor desperately tried to undo all the telepathic barriers set-up to prevent them from entering. Peter screamed in total agony, trying to get the voices out of his head.

"Calm down Peter."

Jean urged as she struggled to keep control, a million thoughts raced per second within Peter's mind. Just as she was about to let go from the overwhelming barrage, she felt another presence within the confines of Peter's mind.

_It's alright Jean, we'll do this together._

The professor voiced, and despite visibly relaxing, Jean still felt the turmoil of Peter's emotions overflow through her.

_But Peter's mind—_

She tried to reason—but as always, she'd been cut off.

_Is in safe hands, do not worry, for we will be careful._

With all the words of warning said, Jean obediently nodded and got to work, digging deep into Peter's mind to find any speck of clue the perpetrator could've left that they possibly could use to track them down. However, the deeper she went in, the louder Peter's screams broke through her. It made it harder for her to not only keep control of her powers, but of the sanity within herself as well as she saw flashes of Peter's past, sickening tortures done by none other than Stryker himself, and Peter's own personal struggle as an errand boy for a teenage drug lord. It was all to surreal, she wondered how well the professor was faring, coming to view with such a horrid life.

_He left again._

A voice sprung up from out of nowhere, and Jean desperately tried to hold onto the traces it left.

_Your father left again—and for revenge again._

That voice—though somewhat familiar—Jean could hardly recognize. But it didn't matter who it was behind the purple glow in which the voice was coming from, she had it right there, with just a tap of her finger, to reach the mainstay point of the enemy.

_Just like he left your mom before you were born. Because that's what Erik does—once an avenger, always will be an avenger. And you, are nothing._

"DON'T LISTEN TO HER PETER!"

Her physical body unconsciously shouted, as she came face to face within Peter's mind at the purple clad telepathic projection of the one named _Psylocke_.

"You!"

The woman turned to her, eyes in a violet blaze. Around them the walls were closing in, and Peter's thoughts began to rapidly fly, ten times faster than before, but Jean held on knowing she was damn near close to finally ridding her friend of this one nuisance.

_Foolish little girl._

"Professor, I've got her."

With the stakes higher than all Jean had ever known, she readied herself for the mental war she was about to come face—undoubtedly even larger than the bout against Apocalypse, for the sanity of one of her friends is on the line.

_Psylocke!_

The dark haired woman wavered from her stiff control over the unknowing twenty-something silver haired man, focus split between staking her claim within his disjointed head, faced off against not only the human incarnation of a restrained Phoenix, but the most powerful telepath in the world, and the brewing reality around her. She raised an eyebrow towards the second in charge, the dark haired riptide of a man whose hands waved strong winds of disaster across masses of no man lands.

"He's here."

He simply spoke, behind him an armed Asian fellow with sly eyes and straight lined lips with no morality within, alongside a beautiful vixen of cherry blonde and poisonous olive orbs. They all geared themselves up as the magnetic pull got stronger with each step of Magneto that vibrated across the cemented ground.

"Good, keep him busy."

Psylocke smirked swiftly through her struggle, aware that her henchmen knew exactly what was next on the agenda. A woman like her who had taken being enslaved, working under orders of strong named men—it was about time she took her own stand. After all, those men she had been with never once showed any competence without the aid of her sword, _all talk and promises—not a single show of action_.

"Zero." Janos spoke gruffly, a small nod towards the specially enhanced agent who'd had an affinity for guns. "Get Sabre, keep watch, and you know what to do."

Agent Zero left without so much of a word, plastic guns locked and loaded. Next up, Viper hissed, slim gloved fingers wrapped tightly around Janos' shoulder.

"They're not enough." She whispered seductively, breath blown soft against his sensitive ear. "Send me out with them."

"No, we need you in here."

"This is no time for getting frisky— _Snake_." Psylocke snapped, agitated as she sent a tight glowing glare towards the taunting woman who only hissed in return. "We need all focus on restraining Erik. He may no longer have Apocalypse's gift of increased magnetic power but the things that man can do with a single piece of metal is more than any single one of us could handle _alone_."

"There's a reason I don't work with _other_ women."

Viper let out in an exasperated whistle, her eyes green with madness as she pushed Janos aside and made her way towards the exit.

"What are you doing?!"

Psylocke yelled over, her control on Peter slightly wavered as she watched the tall vixen of a woman take off her gloves elegantly, before she fiercely threw them on the ground and stepped on them.

"Taking matters into my own hands."

That was the last that Viper had said before she disappeared behind the sliding plastic doors. This left a much frustrated Psylocke, and Janos a little more than turned on. Psylocke pulled herself together. The purple haired leader gathered her thoughts and fought back against the overwhelming shadow of Charles and Jean, she gripped tightly onto Peter's mind as she lipped orders towards her remaining lackey.

"Stay here and guard me, don't you dare leave, not until I say so." Her purple powers burned intensely. "I don't have full control of these powers yet and if this fails then so does the rest of everything we've worked for."

"Of course." The proud man spoke breezily as he stood behind her, his eyes glued on the sliding doors. "I wouldn't even dream of it, my lady."

The rumble began as screeching sounds of metal and fangs met each other, followed by the sound of plastic bullets being shot at a close distance. Janos prepared himself for any sort of indication that Magneto might come barging in faster than they'd anticipated.

Behind the glass was a whole different story.

Stood in the middle of the three, Magneto and his falcon eyes steadily glared at all that surrounded him, floating by his palm the metal pieces of his and Charles' chess game. He threw the deformed king at Agent Zero who swiftly dodged it, before the knight gunned for him again. With quick reflexes, Agent Zero danced with the pieces as Magneto mercilessly threw all of them at him, like deadly bullets made of the _finest_ and _hardest_ metal in existence. Which they were—because Charles had always been the kind to spare no expenses over the simple game of horses and castles, he always won them back anyway with a cheat, no matter how clean he claimed to be.

"Move."

Magneto stonily whispered as the three hardened their stances, Agent Zero still on the edge as any given moment now the fallen pieces could come back on attack. One sudden movement from the fanged man, and a queen hastily aimed for him, barely catching the long haired beast by the heart as Viper moved to send toxic acid spray to melt it away. Except—instead of melting, the outer surface of the bullet cracked open, and there revealed Magneto's greatest weapon—liquid mercury, also known as _quicksilver_ , a volatile element, counterfeit and banned in most of the surface world. It dripped down to the ground in one long glob before it slithered into a quick whip that slashed across Sabretooth's eyes.

"Agh!"

The man exclaimed as the searing metal burned into his retinas, before it promptly travelled down the bridge of his nose and forced him to inhale the toxic metal.

"Shit."

Viper was quick to act. She took a small glass bottle from her belt holster and spilled it over the aching Sabretooth as Magneto moved to throw the rest of the chess pieces at her. She scaled up the walls with ease and avoided the quick attacks with elegant dodges and tumbling as Erik mercilessly attacked Sabertooth again with the curve hollows of his pawns.

"AGH!"

Agent Zero finally found it in himself to move after a long five minutes of being frozen in place, the fear that crept up his spine from seeing the expert control of Magneto over the deadly poison still a sharp resonance that surrounded him. Viper saw his hesitance and aided him by throwing a plain dart right to his hip, the sharp prick snapping him out of the stun.

"I'm going to kill you all."

Magneto seemed to be done playing games. He pulled up a hand behind him to reveal another set of chess pieces, all ready to attack. With one single flick of the wrist, they all travelled at an alarming speed toward different directions, piercing through flesh in a very familiar fashion, blood spilled onto the glass and plastic walls, and none on his hands.

The first to fall had been Agent Zero who barely made it in time to pull the trigger of his gun before he had been subdued by the sharp pang on his heart. Viper fell limp to the floor, eyes wide open and mouth slightly parted, her forehead bleeding with a gaping hole right on the center. And there was Sabertooth, a single fang out as his claws scratched through his bleeding eyes, all red from the sore and the scarlet that oozed out of his sockets. And Magneto stood in the wake of his destruction.

Suddenly, a storm brewed, strong unfathomable winds crossed his path as it assaulted him in sharp razors, his cape torn to shreds yet his head stayed in tact, protected under the cover of his helmet. Before he could fly off further into the whirlwind, he steadied himself with a sphere of magnetic force and levitated away from eye of the hurricane.

"Riptide."

He spoke venomously at the man that stood behind the chaos, same smirk and eyes looked at him, just like the day _this man_ betrayed and left the brotherhood.

"Magneto."

The strong winds calmed into a tormenting breeze, just about ready to pick up again into another barrage.

"I should've killed you the day you left."

"Yeah you should've." He smirked again, a flick of two fingers. "But you didn't."

And the wind howled in fierce anger as Magneto levitated out of its reach, but Janos sent another lone tornado towards him and for a split second, he almost lost control. But he stayed holding on. He pulled the magnetic field towards him for stead and with one quick motion, he hurled with all his force the chess pieces that were coated in scarlet red.

Janos protected himself—barely. His cheek stung with dropped crimson, one of the pieces grazing over the highs of his left cheekbone. He tried to gain control of the situation, the force of his heavy winds against the steady hold of Magneto in the magnetic field that surrounded them. Unfortunately for Janos, Magneto had complete takeover of the invisible sphere and nothing his forceful power could do to stop the barrage of the chess pieces that begun to assault him in all places. He gasped as each of them cut through his skin and broke through the flesh.

Even when Janos fell unconscious—maybe even _dead_ —Magneto continued to tear his body apart. Only stopped by the sudden pinch of a needle that got through his neck, and he was forced to drop his control over the pieces as he turned, once completely unaware of the newcomers that had arrived.

"Gah!"

He yelled, hand up in an attempt to attack the one who dared to disrupt him, only for his try to fail. He turned back, eyes narrow at the sight of Hank and Raven that stood there panting. Hank held with him a plastic looking gun with a small needle tip barely visible.

"Erik you need to stop."

"Raven, what the fuck?!"

She ignored him. She marched her way past the complex doors of the hideaway, and kicked the alarm trigger off as she screamed out the top of her lungs.

"Bitch, where the fuck are you?!"

Erik eyed her madly, one hand jerked off the needle stuck to his neck, the other supported his as he bent down beside the fallen body of Janos. Hank moved to his aid but he pushed him away – like he always did to everyone that cared for him – and he stumbled into a sitting position.

"Get the hell out of here you two."

"Shut the fuck up Erik!"

Raven snapped. She turned around to lunge herself at the weakened man whose powers seem to have failed him. Luckily enough, powers or not, his reflexes had always been flawless and he dodged her attack easily.

"We're here to fix the mess _you_ have created."

She seethed before she jumped up to kick him right on the jaw, and he tumbled backwards, almost toppling over the unconscious— _dead_ —body of Agent Zero. He fought back with the raise of an arm in the hopes that he could somewhat will his powers to come back—but alas, he failed. At the back Hank ignored them, and charged for the back which he was sure the last of them had expertly hidden herself within.

"Forget it Erik, Hank shot you with the same serum he uses to suppress his powers—for the next five hours or so, you're as good as dead weight."

"Why the fuck—"

"You fucking idiot." She moved forward to slap him, the force jerked his face to look out at the damaged he'd caused, but it hadn't been the sting of her palm against his cheek that had hurt the most. "You're always thinking about only you!"

She jabbed at him, and dug her index finger into his chest and twisted it as he tried to gather his words together to fight back at her sharp tongue, but Hank stepped in.

"She's gone." Hank appeared again, solemn as he walked over towards the two fighting adults, big steps over the dead bodies that lay. "Been gone for awhile, as far as I can tell."

"Who?"

"Who else do you think—your fucking _best friend_ Psylocke."

Raven quipped rapidly, fist clenched, as if ready to throw another punch at Erik.

"What—"

"Do you know that the mansion is on fire?!"

She does not let him speak, eyes two sets of dangerous yellow sparks that glared visciously at him.

"How'd—"

"And do you know who the fuck did it?!"

"I—"

"It was Peter, Erik."

The truth silenced him, and he could not help but gape at the two of them, blue eyes dangerously wide. Hank pushed himself between the two, arms spread wide to emphasize the distance between them, prepped for if one or the other decided to launch an attack. Raven turned to face away, teeth heavily clenched, and Hank regarded Erik with a wary look before he proceeded to tell the tale.

"He shot up the entire school with the new prototype gun I'd created."

Hank began, a deep sigh as he extended a hand to the notorious Magneto who'd stayed seated down beside Agent Zero after his little squabble with Raven. He accepted and Hank pulled him up.

"It fired pallets of fine flour like powder compact into small flammable bullets induced with high levels of oxygen."

"Get to the fucking point Hank."

Raven snarled impatiently, ready to pounce, but Hank turned to her with a pleading pointed look and she could not help but stay rooted on the spot.

"Once the trigger ignites, the inbuilt lighter shoots out at the same time, causing an explosion as the flour burns off and catches everything on sight."

Hank finished explaining, Erik looked at him bewildered and utterly confused, about to ask what all of that meant when Raven spoke up rudely.

"He almost shot your daughter."

"What?!"

Erik jumped up and grabbed Hank by the collar. He pulled him in as their foreheads touched and he seethed dangerously at the blue beast. Hank would have almost whimpered if not for the desperate worry for Peter that rang through his mind.

"Oh, now he reacts." Raven muttered to herself before she pushed Erik off of Hank, and pulled the Beast out of the way so that she'd butt her head with Erik's instead. "Psylocke's had him under strong telepathy, which if you'd had just stayed you'd know about."

She spoke pointedly, every word a sharp burn of her tongue to Erik's quickened breath. She looked to the side, at the corner of her eye she saw Hank fumble with the phone, before she turned her focus back onto the sinner himself. 

"And if you didn't busy yourself taking your sweet time on some dumb revenge scheme, you would've had the decency to catch up to her and stop her."

"But you didn't."

Hank hushly whispered under his own heavy breaths, but it was loud enough for Erik to hear. This left him frozen and hurting.

"Erik, don't you see that it's this anger that's slowly but surely killing not only your happiness, but everyone you care for, around you?" She reasoned fiercely, eyes almost pleading if not for the narrowed irises that glared right through his soul. "Every single time you get angry someone you love suffers the consequences of the decisions you make and the actions you take."

"I don't love the kid."

He croaked.

"Well you should."

"And why should I?"

"Ugh, you're impossible!" She shoved him away from her and turned to look out at the _goddamn_ wake of Erik's destructive anger. "How about you tell me _Erik_ why you're so hell bent on taking revenge just for this kid Peter who you don't claim to _love—huh_?!"

"Because I am indebted to him!" Erik challenged, his hands flailed up and unmistakably, so did the fallen chess pieces. "He saved my daughter—he saved me."

He began to pace, his feet barely stepped over the _useless_ bodies of those _useless_ people, not understanding himself why his heart pounded so fast and ached so hard to bring forth justice to that silver haired kid that never once failed to surprise him. He'd wondered for a long time now why a certain yearning tugged so hard into him, for a boy he barely even knew.

"My ideologies may be that of an extremist but I do have the courtesy to feel grateful!" He reasoned, more to himself than to Raven, only half aware of Hank's hurried conversation on the phone across the other side of the rubbled area. "That kid has done so much for a man like me and _I don't understand why_ , and _I'm trying to understand why_!"

"Why don't you ask him Erik if you're so eager to know?!"

"He can't."

Hank solemnly interrupted.

"And why not?"

Raven spat.

"Charles just called, Peter's out."

"What?!"

Raven and Erik screamed simultaneously. Raven's scales stood up and the chess pieces on the floor shook dangerously.

"Hank, I thought Erik's powers—"

"Peter's in coma." Hank simply stated, and the rest of Raven's sentence was swallowed thickly with the ugly bile on her throat. "Take off his helmet."

"Why?"

Erik could no longer protest, so he let Raven speak for him as she roughly pulled the metal headpiece off, not a single sense of hesitation.

"There's something Jean wants him to see." Hank mumbled, eyes darted from the bright yellow of Raven's glare, to the curious and angry blue of the megalomaniac. "It's Peter's thoughts before he forced everyone out of his mind and blacked out."

With the helmet completely off, Erik bowed his head and readied himself for what he expected to be Charles scolding him. He wasn't one to be fooled by Hank's words, so he strongly believed it was just another one of Charles scheme to get him to obey—but he no longer saw the point in protesting, so he welcomed the punishment.

Except—instead of Charles' authoritative reprimand, he heard a soft and scared voice. One like a little kid—and he'd flashed too quickly to 1962, a young lost boy whose hair was covered in a dainty red cap, a mental whiplash blinding him as he listened to the voices that swirled inside a dark dark void.

_Hey Jean, if I die, will you let my father know._

"Know what?"

_That I remember._

"Remember what Peter?"

_That I remember the story of how he and my mom met._

Erik's eyes widened as Peter's memories began to overwhelm him, and there he saw, the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid his eyes on, the only woman he'd ever truly loved as much as he did his mother, her name forever the name whispered by his lips—

"Magda."

Peter always did dub the whole romance thing with his mom and father as a _sick love story_. Sick in the awesome kind of cool way, but also in the _well fuck these guys are jerks and idiots and I hate them I hate them I hate them_ kind of way as well.

His mother sat on the basement sofa he'd used as a bed, and she'd spout the tale off with a _once upon a time_ , as if a fifteen going sixteen year old boy cared too much for that sort of thing – he did, but he'd never tell her— _or anyone at all_ —that. At the time, he didn't really care about it because knowing where he had ended up after all that went down, he knew for sure the whole thing wasn't going to end in some happily-ever-after cliché. And he wasn't much of a sucker for that sort of stuff but he always figured it'd be nice if somewhere along the way of his fucked up life that there was at least a method to a happy ending that he could know was within his reach.

It all started when Erik Magnus Lehnsherr finally _officially_ escaped from the tight hold of experimentation during the ripe year of 1950. A changed man who'd shaved his hair and replaced his name – the old one had been stripped off him and tainted with tortures of the past that he no longer wanted to be associated with – he had made it a point to hunt down the remaining officers, while on the side tracking the whereabouts of runaway Dr. Klaus Schmidt.

A felon that he was, he went into hiding after the blood spilled gracefully onto his hands, and he found comfort in a small war time bar in the middle of Nuremberg, Germany. There he met, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on, the barmaid bombshell, Magda Bojanowska. Tending to his wounds with drops of alcohol and ripped pieces of clothing, he fell in love with the way she tucked her long curls of brun behind her ear, and allowed for him to see her glass brown eyes that shimmered like blue under the faded champagne lights.

It was within his three week stay that he decided to settle for awhile, allowing some sort of normalcy to come back into his life. There he'd help her run the bar which her mother owned, admiring the stories of how it used to be the hideaway of many strays at a time where there had been no other comfort for them. She shared stories of her time with the devils as well, of how she had been transferred into a Romani camp, and only escaped due to an explosion caused by one of the rebellious prisoners that allowed so many of them the freedom they'd longed for after three years of absolute torture.

She didn't go much further into the details of her time away, but he'd seen enough through her eyes to know just what actually went down. And his fist clenched at the thought of how such a beautiful woman could be treated in such an animalistic matter, his powers let out as he crumpled the knives on display and the corks lying around. It was then that he found himself so utterly screwed.

They didn't speak after that—but she hadn't exactly shun him away either. She still allowed for him to work at the bar, even talked to him when the necessity came up. She just wouldn't— _touch him_. But it wasn't out of fear, he'd digressed. He'd seen the way she looked, the red on her face and the shy glances she sent his way. All of that culminated into one night of confessions where he'd told her of who he really was—Max Eisenhardt, and not the infamous hunter whose name he could not spell out. He'd said that he no longer was that boy, and he was better now. That his powers, still unfathomable to him, are his strength keeping him alive. She'd said he never needed it—she was there, she could be his strength. And he let her.

Four years of happiness and hiding, he'd erased the fugitive name of Magnus and began living as _just_ Erik Lehnsherr with nothing else in between—a name he swore he'd live under for the rest of his life. They continued to run the bar, and he'd almost completely forgotten about Klaus' existence. As happy as they could be, they brought into the world the beautiful Anya Maxine Lehnsherr. Another three years that happiness lasted, with their daughter safely tucked under their arms—three years of peace and quiet, of soft touches and late night cuddling—until it all came tumbling down by the hands of a fire, policemen and a newly named Sebastian Shaw.

That was all it took for Erik to snap back into who he had been, killing the lives of countless of men right before the very eyes of his frightened wife. When he'd turned to her, the body of their daughter scattered ashes under their dirty soles, he saw the fear beneath her clouded browns. And it wasn't fear of the men that haunted them and killed their daughter, but of him and the blood stained on his hands. And she ran away, never to be heard of again. He—in turn—reinstated the name _Magnus_ and locked away those treasured memories of that beautiful woman, and their almost happy ending, never to be touched again. Not _even_ by some all-powerful claiming telepath.

It was in 1958 she'd given birth to mutant twins, a baby girl who yawned with red sparks clouding her eyes, and a silver haired baby boy who cried in mourn for his missing father. Six months prior she'd found out about her pregnancy, and with no shame she moved on, not a word to her _ex_ husband about their existence. Magda changed her name—a pretty common theme in this whole crazy mess of a history—from Lehnsherr to Maximoff, her grandmother's maiden name, a name long buried under her own family's twisted history. And she brought her two children up in a land filled with supposed opportunities, a promise to never again look back at her time in Europe, but only to move forward, on towards America and all the freedom it had to offer.

"Peter."

_They were awesome together, right Jean?_

"Yes they were."

_But then he left again, Jean._

"Peter, I'm sorry."

_Erik left for revenge the last time, leaving my mom with me and my sister growing unknowingly within her body, and now he's left again for revenge, leaving me to myself again._

"Peter, he doesn't know, he never did."

_He's the fucking worst._

Erik reeled back from the memories Jean had channeled through the professor and cerebro, his head spun in a million different directions. And as he eyed the two people before him, the tighter his stomach got as the horrid truth presented itself in all it's ugly reality.

_No._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, did it take me forever to write this. And y'all would know given the fact that idk I only updated NOW A after like four or five months later. Anyway, I had to like google the laws of magnetic force vs wind power and stuff and ask my friend about it but I didn't get any concrete conclusion on which one would win (altho my friend did say that everything is gravitated towards magnetic attractions so she thinks that in this sense magnetic force would win agains wind power) so I just wrote with whatever I could. I mean there was a lot of science stuff that I went through but I didn't rly have time to really get into them for a proper explanation so I hope you take whatever I wrote here? Um, anyway, the next chapter is the last and like I said, Peter Maximoff deserves a ~~happy???~~ ending and damn right he's going to get one! Not reread for mistakes but I'll be doing a story wide revision of this soon so stay tuned! I wasn't rly sure how to go about the reveal so I hope this was satisfactory :) I did love writing the history of Magda and Erik after all, some of the events was taken from the comics others are all my own twist to it :) And also, I know Magda is the name of Erik's wife in XMA but eh, well Peter's mom is also Magda. Maybe Erik has an affinity for Magdas, idk or maybe his dead wife's name isn't Magda. Well it doesn't matter.


End file.
